After his little detour to a fashion house that he'd rather not think about, Carter had decided to finish what he'd started. Namely, getting drunk. He'd had a notion of hitting all his old favourite bars. Except it turned out, of course, that all those spots had become all the guys' favourite spots too. It had taken him a while, but he'd finally shaken off his wannabe posse to find a tucked away piano bar where the music was cool and his whiskey even cooler.

And, he decided as he glanced around the beautiful velvet interior and even more beautiful girls, he might just make this place his regular. Especially since no one would ever find him in Brooklyn.

The girl singing at the moment had sent him a couple of glances. Secret smiles. He figured he'd wait until she'd finished her set and then ask her to join him. She was beautiful, and it had been long enough since he'd got laid.

"Carter Baizen?"

He paused and glanced up from his drink.

There was a girl standing in front of him. She looked Asian and vaguely familiar.

"You remember me?" she grinned at him. "Kanya?"

And the whiskey soured in his mouth as he finally placed her. She'd been the first girl he'd slept with on his travels. High on freedom and high enough from an opium den that he'd managed to forget tears and a broken promise, a girl telling him she was ready and a sense of guilt that he'd refused to carry round with him because he was Carter Baizen. She was a small brunette, but she'd been talented and experienced where he'd known another brunette wouldn't have been. He'd had sex like he'd known he'd never experience on the Upper East Side. Her blank face and skilled hands had felt like liberation. (They'd felt wrong, and he'd forced himself to revel in it).

"What are you doing in New York?"

She seemed oblivious to his displeasure as she sank down next to him. "I find nice man to look after me."

"I'll bet."

She looked at him from between her lashes. "You know you can't afford me now."

"Sure."

She laughed and crossed her legs so that he could see just how short her skirt was. He was reminded of a blonde doing the same thing in Santorini, a night tangled in the sheets and guilt, guilt, guilt that he'd drowned in sex and more alcohol till he felt nothing.

The singer finished her last song.

He got to his feet without a glance back. The singer was already winking at him, beckoning him to her. An American stranger. That was what he needed. That was exactly what he needed.

"Chuck."

Bart was already sitting down, menu open, as he raised an eyebrow at his son.

"You're late."

Chuck was late because he hadn't assumed that his father would bother turning up on time. The man never did usually. He took his seat now, forcing a smile. "Sorry. Traffic." Bart had selected the same oak-panelled restaurant that William van der Bilt frequented so much; Chuck wondered, drily, if it had been intentional. It was then that he noticed the other place set at the table. He frowned, glancing at his father. "Are we expecting someone else?"

Bart's mouth curved. "We are."

But before Chuck could ask who, exactly, his father had got to his feet.

Chuck turned - and stilled. Because Lily van der Woodsen had just walked into the restaurant. Lily was approaching them - and she was smiling at Bart. Smiling at him. Chuck stared; because this couldn't be happening. There was no way.

Lily stopped to kiss Bart's cheek and Chuck felt sicker and sicker. Then Lily was turning to him, warmly. "Charles." He managed to recover himself enough to let her kiss him too. How? How was this even possible?

He looked between the two of them once they were finally all seated. Lily opposite his father. "So," he attempted. "You two are...?" He was half praying that they'd fill in the blank with friends. Acquaintances. But he knew better.

Lily's hand slid over Bart's and he had the sudden urge to throw up. "I told Eric and Serena earlier today - but I wanted to tell you myself, Charles." There was a special tone that Lily had always used to speak to him - soft and half-amused, almost the same way she spoke to her own children. Like she genuinely would have wanted him as her son in-law. She'd told him, after Serena had left, that she still considered him part of her family.

Chuck had been the one to distance himself.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked at last. He somehow kept his voice light.

Lily exchanged a glance with Bart. "Well, your father was very supportive after Serena left." She cleared her throat. "There weren't many people offering much support after...after it all came out." An affair with a married congressman, a jilted engagement, a runaway daughter? The only thing people would have offered was judgement. Or questions, so that they had even more material for gossip. "And I have to admit that Bart was the last person, considering, that I expected to-"

"I think Chuck's aware of just how much trouble one child can cause for a parent," Bart intercut. "I told you I never blamed you, Lily. Or Serena." He smiled. A cold smile that didn't reach his eyes - and Chuck could only watch, appalled, as Lily smiled back.

"But we didn't want to tell anyone until we were sure that..."

"That it was serious," Chuck finished for her. Bile rose in his throat, but he prepared himself for the next question. "So, it's serious then?"

Lily beamed. And then Chuck saw it. The large diamond that gleamed on the fourth finger of her left hand. Oh, no. No no no. "Your father flew back from Europe this morning to propose." Her hand rested for a moment on Chuck's arm, and the diamond glittered coldly in the restaurant's light. "It looks like we're going to be family after all, Charles."

Chuck's jaw was clenched behind his smile. No, no, no. "Congratulations." Lily and Bart were talking to each other now, but their conversation blurred past him. He needed a scotch. Fast. But more importantly - he needed Blair.

Serena was drunk. Serena was exactly the kind of drunk she needed to be - exactly the kind of drunk that only Georgie made her. The other guests at the Palace bar were looking sideways at the two girls as they downed Manhattan after Gimlet after Harpoon. The sickly sweet alcohol had just the dizzying kick that Serena needed. She needed to be happy. Happy, happy, happy.

Happy enough not to even think about Blair or Nate or Chuck who was about to be her goddamn stepbrother. Happy enough not to think about her mother, who had so casually announced over brunch that she was marrying Bart Bass. Happy enough not to think about her own gut reaction to the news - which had been to call Blair. She hadn't called Blair, anyway. She'd called Georgie instead.

Which was a much better choice.

She wouldn't be this drunk if Blair was here. (She'd probably be curled in Blair's bed, eating macaroons after a full day of hitting Bendels). But Blair wasn't her friend any more and Serena didn't care because she was drunk and happy.

Because tonight she got to be Savannah Tonight Serena van der Woodsen didn't exist, and what a relief that was. Tonight she was Savannah with a Southern drawl and all men's eyes on her. They were always on her - she didn't even notice them. Serena loved her life. She loved it. She loved bars and she loved miniskirts and she loved cocktails and she loved Georgie.

"I love you, Georgie!"

(I love you, B!)

The two suited men who'd been drooling over them - accountants? Lawyers? Serena couldn't remember - exchanged confused glances. "Who's Georgie?"

Georgie smirked. She gave the blonde a look. "Don't you mean Svetlana?"

Serena just giggled. "Yeah. Sure." She twirled on her barstool, golden hair cascading down her back. She and Georgie had been moving from bar to bar all day - Georgie had been the one to suggest the Palace. Maybe you'll run into your new daddy. Your fiance turned brother. And Serena had laughed and drank and drank. Why not?

But she should have known that there was only one person she'd run into here. One person who was always here and would still never admit it. The laughter died on Serena's lips, because Blair was standing in the doorway of the bar. Blair. She'd obviously been on her way through the foyer and up to a certain someone's room. Serena wondered if she'd been laughing loud enough that the brunette had heard. Why else would she stop here?

Georgie had spotted her too. And there was a wicked grin on her lips as she stood up. "Well, well. Snow White!"

Serena thought, through her haze of alcohol, that the name Blair hated so much had never seemed more apt. Skin white as snow, hair black as ebony, lips red as blood. Standing there framed in the bar's low light, so perfect and pure and as untouchable as the Snow White in the fairytale book the two of them had always used to read. Harold used to read it to Blair and Blair used to read it to Serena because she didn't have a daddy. Except Blair wasn't perfect and pure because she was on her way to see Chuck, and Serena was pretty sure Snow White would never have sold out any of the eight dwarves. Or six? Seven? Fairytales had always been Blair's thing anyway.

"What are you doing here?" Georgie was enquiring.

Serena tried too late to catch her arm, to tell her to sit down and ignore Blair. Forget her. Blair was busy anyway. And the last thing Serena wanted to do was talk to her.

Georgie wouldn't listen anyway because Georgie never listened - she couldn't be controlled, and that was why Serena liked her so much. Georgie was the opposite of Blair in every way.

Blair, meanwhile, had fixed Georgie a cold look. "I obviously don't need to ask what you're doing here."

Georgie laughed and ignored her. "Can you just stop stalking Serena?" It was tossed out carelessly. "I know it's hard to kick a habit of a lifetime, but..."

The other brunette's eyes slanted back. "What are you doing in the city, Georgie? Sold your show pony for acid again?"

That earned Blair another grin. "Serena called me, actually. I guess she got bored of your good-girl act. Can't say I blame her," Georgie added. "So before your start on your little tirade to try and drag Serena out of here and ruin all our fun - just remember that Serena wants to be here. And," her her tone grew condescending, "There's nothing you can do about it."

Serena's eyes met Blair's across the bar.

And Blair had to fight the urge that had risen inside her. The tirade, dragging her best friend home. Because Serena had made it quite clear that they weren't friends any more. She wasn't Blair's best friend to protect or defend any more, and she didn't want to be.

Georgie followed her gaze. "Look, Snow White. The night hasn't even started yet. I suggest you go home."

Blair's jaw tightened. She shoved past Georgina and headed towards the blonde who was practically falling off her bar-stool and into the eager hands of not one but two men. "Serena." Her tone was cool. "Is this really a good idea?"

It took a moment for those blue eyes to focus on her. "What?"

"Georgina." Blair practically grit her teeth. "You know she's bad news."

At that, Serena laughed. "So you're here to judge me again? Of course you are." She shook her head. "You know what, B? At least Georgie never did what you did. And I want a friend who knows how to have a good time with me - not one who only knows how to tell on me," the words were slurring, "Who only knows how to betray me."

Blair could see Georgie's grin broadening out of the corner of her eye. She took a sharp breath. "Serena-"

"I'm sorry." Serena shrugged. "I have no idea who you're talking about. I'm Savannah." And with that, she turned away. "You know what I want?" It was addressed to Georgie and not to Blair. "A martini."

"A dirty one?" Georgie prodded with evident glee.

Serena kept her back to Blair. "A dirty one."

And her laughter, mingled with Georgie's, rang in Blair's ears as she walked out of the bar.

Bart had left the table because someone had called through to the restaurant with a message for him. Of course. Work didn't wait for something as trivial as eating.

Lily looked at Chuck now. Now that it was just the two of them. "So." She tilted her head over her wine glass, knowing. "You've been very quiet. Is everything ok?"

"Of course."

Lily caught his arm across the table. "Charles." She released a breath. "Look, I know that this is probably a lot for you to take in. Serena," her mouth turned, wry, "Left as soon as I told her. And even Eric seemed to find it hard to understand. The only reason your father and I kept it a secret was because we didn't want to upset any of you."

Chuck's smile was tight. "I'm sure." He highly doubted that had been Bart's motivation.

"I'm sorry," Lily sighed. "I'm truly sorry, Charles, for what happened with you and Serena."

But Lily had always known he and Serena were never in love. "It's not your fault," Chuck murmured. It might have been his and Blair's - except the only real person to blame for any of this was Bart. Chuck watched Lily now. "I just don't understand," he said, at last.

"I know the idea of your father and me-"

"I can accept the idea of you being together," Chuck cut her off quietly. "I know you were ten years ago."

Lily went still. "You...know. I see." She paused. "How did you, uh...?"

He'd found out through his own investigation. The investigating that he and Blair had done because Bart's insistence that he propose to Serena hadn't even made sense, really, from a business point of view. Because there had been heiresses far more wealthy than Serena - because Bart had wanted to close a deal with Russell Thorpe and he'd still never suggested Chuck go after Raina to close it. So why go to all that effort just for the van der Woodsens?

"I know why it ended."

Lily blinked. She took a large, slow gulp of her wine. "I see." She shifted in her seat. She seemed to be counting to ten internally, working out how to go about answering him. "Look, Charles," she stared eventually. "I don't want to lie - not to you. And I'm sure that you're worried about your father. But he's forgiven me, and we've moved past it. It was a very long time ago now." She held Chuck's hand, and Chuck wished she could realise just how wrong she was. Bart, forgive? Move past anything? "I'm never going to hurt him like that again."

Chuck's hand was cold in hers as he nodded. "Ok."

He wished that she would.

Chuck's suite was empty when Blair reached it - so he was still with Bart. Whatever was happening couldn't be anything good, she reflected wearily. They'd agreed to meet here at ten because even two hours was pushing the amount of time Bart could uphold a conversation with his son.

But it was already half past.

She stood for a moment in the darkened room, breathing in the familiar smell. An empty liquor glass sat on the bar - she could just see the imprint of his mouth on it. The truth was that she loved Chuck's suite. She'd spent hours scheming here. Hours on Chuck's bed even before they'd started sleeping together. She'd had her first taste of real alcohol here, her first glass of scotch, tried her first cigarette (and announced that it would be her last). Here was the one place she came to escape.

She remembered camping out here for almost a week when she was thirteen and Chuck had measles. She'd already caught them once, and he didn't have a Dorota or a Harold to feed him soup or hold a cold flannel to his forehead. Eleanor had been in Paris again, and Harold hadn't had the heart to stop her.

Chuck had spent the whole of the first day refusing to speak to her and growling at her to go home. She'd ignored him. Because he was being ridiculous and because there was nothing Blair Waldorf loved more than the idea of having a patient to boss around. She'd put on the radio, made him listen to all of her favourite programmes and favourite songs. Ella Fitzgerald and Doris Day. And she'd fallen asleep next to him, woken to the feel of his burning skin against hers. Brushed the hair, black and damp with sweat, off his fevered forehead.

It was the first time he'd looked at her, properly, since she'd started going steady with Carter.

And in that moment it had just been the two of them. For just a week they'd been kids again; she'd been tucked away in his suite and her fear of losing Carter's attention, and all the girls Chuck had kissed, and absent Eleanor and absent Bart hadn't mattered. She'd slept in his bed and it hadn't been wrong or uncomfortable or indecent because the only thing that had mattered was that he was sick and he needed someone. He needed her. Blair needed to be needed. And for a week, he hadn't pushed her away with scotch and cigars and a leer. She got to be Blair, and he got to be Chuck.

Then he'd got better. And Carter had showed up to drag him out, flowers for Blair in one hand - and Chuck had climbed out of bed, got dressed and told her he didn't need her pity any more. They'd gone to one of Georgie's parties that night, and Blair had danced with Carter and Chuck had slept with Georgie. And then he definitely hadn't been a kid any more.

Blair's nails dug into her palm now. God, she hated Georgie. She'd been pretty disgusted that Chuck had lost his virginity to her at the time - but she hadn't realised just how bad Georgina Sparks was until Serena had started hanging around with her. And then it was like Serena became a different person. Not just Savannah - but a girl who only cared about having fun and didn't give a damn what damage she did to have it. That was the problem. Blair had never cared less what damage Serena did to other people on her wild nights; but the only real damage she ended up doing was to herself.

And Blair wanted to grab her and shake her and scream at her for being so stupid, for putting herself in situations so dangerous, for wasting even a second of her time with scum like Georgina Sparks. And yes - yes, jealously had always boiled inside her every time she saw Serena laughing with Georgie, every time she saw how much fun they had together.

Blair didn't make Serena twirl on tabletops. Blair was always the one dragging her down from the tabletops. Blair didn't make Serena laugh so loud the entire hotel heard. Blair was always the one telling Serena to keep her voice down, covering up for her when everyone stared. Blair didn't get Serena drunk enough to throw up all over her Chanel. Blair was always the one cleaning up her Chanel.

But she'd always been the only person who did any of those things. The only person Serena let do any of those things. Just like she was the only person Chuck let take care of him when he was sick - she was needed. She didn't know how to drink scotch with Chuck, didn't know how to down martinis with Serena, didn't know how to forget herself or go crazy or go too far. But she knew how to be Blair Waldorf and she knew how to look after them. She knew how to look after Serena van der Woodsen and Chuck Bass and that wasn't something any one else could claim.

(She'd used to fantasize that she was the only girl who could claim to be loved by Carter Baizen, only she knew that wasn't true anymore). But the other thing was. She did know how to look after Serena - and that was never going to change, no matter how much the blonde wanted it to. Just because Serena decided she didn't care didn't mean that Blair had stopped. And Blair wasn't going to stop until Georgie was out of town and Serena was out of danger.

She glanced at the clock. It was almost quarter to eleven now. She ignored the delicious familiarity of Chuck's bed and headed for the telephone that sat on his desk instead. Because Serena wasn't the only thing she had to worry about - and this, she could do something for. It would be almost five in the morning in Paris. Blair knew enough about her mother's routine to know that she'd have taken a valium to sleep on the plane, and would be up and ready for her first meeting right about now. Which meant that it was the best time to call.

Time, Blair reflected grimly, to rip off the band-aid.

She picked up the glossy black receiver and slid the dial round for the international switchboard. She'd always used Chuck's suite on the rare occasions that she needed to contact her mother abroad; hotel to hotel tended to have the best connection.

Eleanor did not sound pleased to hear from her when she finally got through. "Blair? What now?"

Blair was very aware of the fact that she was probably about to make her mother even more stressed. But if she didn't tell her, then Eleanor would be far angrier when she eventually did find out. "It's about the Baizens, mother."

"What?" The line was crackly as ever. "I don't have time for more sulking about that fool-"

Blair kept her patience. "Edward Baizen left Waldorf Designs ten percent of his company." She waited for the explosion. It didn't come.

"Is that all?" Eleanor snapped instead.

"Mother?" Blair frowned. Goddamn international calls. "Did you hear me? I said-"

"I heard you, Blair. I'm not deaf." There was a pause while her mother hissed something at someone in the background - no doubt a terrified assistant. "What's your point?"

Blair couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Edward Baizen -" She stopped. There was only one reason Eleanor could possibly be so calm about this. "Wait. Did you already know?"

"Of course I did," Eleanor sighed exasperatedly. "I'm the one who arranged for it."

For a moment, Blair just stared at the receiver. "What?"

"I made a deal with Edward shortly after his son ran away." Eleanor sounded dismissive. "He signed a contract."

"But-" Blair was practically speechless. "But I thought you didn't want anything to do with the Baizens?" She'd been told enough times. Why on earth would Eleanor accept anything from him? Let alone be the one to organise the whole thing?

"I don't," her mother responded irritably. "Honestly, Blair, I really don't have time for this-"

"Mother." Blair's teeth were ground. "What is going on?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Eleanor spat at whichever assistant it was to get out (and don't come back until you have those samples!) before finally sparing her daughter an impatient sigh. "Edward Baizen was supposed to be the one taking my company public. Do you know how much of my time and money was wasted after I had to pull out of our deal because I discovered he wasn't even capable of controlling his own son? Do you know how many times your father has represented Edward Baizen - not to mention given him free legal advice - based on the promise that we were all going to be family one day? That ten percent is nothing more than we were owed." There was a pause, and then - "If you take one more step towards me with that gingham, Jean-Pierre, then I'm sending you straight back to the banlieue!"

There was a stream of French pleas in the background that Blair attempted to interrupt. "Mother-"

"Anyway," Eleanor carried on as though she hadn't heard. "Your father and I discussed this at the time - the ten percent it for you."

Blair stiffened. No. No way. "But it says it's for Waldorf Designs-"

"And do you or do you not want to inherit Waldorf Designs one day?" Eleanor huffed. "Look, I need to go."

"But I don't want it."

"What?" Eleanor demanded. "Don't be ridiculous. I need to go. I'm surrounded by incompetents..." There was a click, and then the line went dead.

Blair didn't want it. She didn't want -

"Don't want what?"

She jumped at the voice. Chuck was standing in the doorway, regarding her. His eyebrow was cocked.

"I assume that was the lovely Eleanor?"

"Unfortunately," Blair muttered.

Chuck had already crossed the room to her, shrugging his jacket off. He took the receiver from her grasp and hung up as he pulled her into his arms. His lips sought her jaw, hungry. "So what did she want?"

"Nothing." Blair exhaled. "I was just calling to tell her something about Givenchy."

Chuck glanced at her pale face. It wasn't the face of a Blair who'd just been talking about Givenchy. His fingers caressed her waist, trapping her to him. "What about him?"

Blair shook her head. "He...sent flowers. I just wanted to let her know. So that she could thank him when she saw him." But her eyes didn't match her mouth. "Anyway," she pressed on. They had far more important things to worry about. "How was your dinner?" Chuck's shoulders were tense. So she'd been right - whatever it was hadn't been good.

Sure enough, he paused. But he carried on stroking the small of her back and his lips covered hers, cutting off her breath. She kissed him back for a few moments, and her arms slid around his neck as her eyes closed. Then she pushed at his chest. "Chuck."

"First things first." His mouth twisted a little. "I think we're going to need a drink." She gave him a look, but he was already guiding her towards his minibar. "Trust me. You will too."

The glass came dangerously close to shattering in Blair's hand.

"What?"

They'd been sitting on the plush sofa - but she stood up now. And she'd already started to pace, voice high.

"This can't be happening."

"It's happening." Chuck rubbed his temples. "She had a ring. They were holding hands." He grimaced at the memory.

"No." Blair shook her head. "No." Lily and Bart couldn't be together. Lily couldn't be playing into his hands that easily. She couldn't. Because if she was, if they were engaged and it was that simple, then everything Chuck and Blair had done - everything Blair had done -

She froze.

Chuck looked at her. "What?"

"They got together because of Serena? Because Bart was so supportive?"

The disgust on Chuck's face was evident. "So they say."

"Then..." Blair had stopped pacing. And that, to Chuck, was far worse. She sat down. Slowly. "Then what I did helped him." Betraying Serena had helped Bart. It hadn't protected her at all. Blair laughed in hollow disbelief. "I helped him."

"Blair," Chuck muttered. They had helped him.

"I helped him."

She didn't know how to look after Serena. She didn't. All she knew how to do was betray. Stab her best friend in the back, destroy her reputation and get her thrown out of town - and all for nothing. All of it for less than nothing, because all it had done was help Bart. All it had done was weaken the van der Woodsens and leave them even more vulnerable to his plans.

Why the hell hadn't she thought about that?

She didn't even know how to scheme properly any more.

"Waldorf."

She shook her head. Blair Waldorf was Serena van der Woodsen's best friend. And that was no longer something she could claim to be. She'd told herself this whole time that it had been necessary, that it had been for something -

She didn't realise that Chuck had closed the space between them on the sofa until she felt the hard heat of his hands on her wrists. He turned her forcefully to him.

"Bart hasn't won, and we're not going to let him."

She shook her head.

"Blair."

And finally, she drew a deep breath, eyes meeting his. He was telling her to pull herself together. And he was right, she knew. He was right. "No," she murmured. She shut her eyes and then opened them. Locked on his. "We're not."

They didn't make it to bed till gone three.

Early morning light streaked into his suite, just illuminating her face. She was curled against his chest. Her skin was pale - and he wished he could believe it was just a result of staying up half the night strategising. She'd finally fallen asleep, though she'd tossed and turned till he'd dragged her to him to stop her movement.

It was uncomfortably hot now and he hardly noticed.

She stirred, her hand brushing against his stomach where it was trapped between them.

"Chuck." Her voice was thick with sleep. She shifted against him. "Go to sleep." Her cheek was stuck to the silk of his pyjama shirt. He could have counted her eyelashes.

"Mm."

She groaned under her breath and her body pressed closer, one leg sliding between his. Her fingers grasped at silk. Cool and familiar in her half-conscious state.

It stirred in his memory, unwilling, her body underneath his on his desk at the office.

They'd been so occupied with thoughts of Bart and Lily that his little slip from earlier had been all but forgotten. Three words that he'd rather not remember anyway.

Her hair was soft under his chin as he gazed up at the ceiling. "What were you really talking to Eleanor about?"

Her fingers tightened in her sleep. "...What?"

"Don't lie."

He felt her eyelashes flutter against him. "Nothing." She buried close enough that all he could think about was the heat of her body and tightness of her grip. Her voice was a muffled sigh against his chest. "Nothing that maters."

Carter lay on his back.

The sex should have been good. The singer was beautiful and supple and tall and copper-haired and nothing like anyone else.

But he'd had to get up halfway through to throw up. Not exactly a great turn-on. He'd taken girls home by the dozen when he was abroad and never had anything quite so disgusting happen to him. He decided it had to be the whiskey. That was what he got for going to shitty bars with shitty singers and shitty prostitutes that should just stay in their goddamn countries.

There had been disgust on the singer's face as he'd thrown her out.

(But it was nothing like hers).

And maybe, maybe it was time to finally admit that he couldn't run any more.

A/N - Thanks so much for all of your reviews last chapter! I'm so glad to hear people didn't mind the ILY :)