The sleek car that drew up outside the Limelight coffeehouse was decidedly incongruous with its surroundings. The paint and large arty posters tacked to brick walls, the overwhelming smell of marijuana and the young men and women slouched in black with big boots and messy hair. The door of the car opened and a young man stepped out, suit immaculate, followed by a young woman with her trench coat buttoned right to the top. They exchanged a glance of faint revulsion. Steeled themselves.

And then headed, of all places, into the coffeehouse.

"Vanessa, can you do table three?"

The manager only just got the question out through the haze of his roll-up. He grinned at her, blinking behind thick glasses. Vanessa rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Sure."

Table three were involved in a heated discussion about spiritualism.

"No, man - it was a real experience. I swear. I've never felt more in touch with myself - it just makes you realise, you know? All this material shit. None of it matters."

The guy in the flawless suit winced as though in physical pain.

"Yeah, man! Totally. We just need to give up all this material shit. Get out, you know? See the world. All we need are the shirts on our backs. No money. No cars. Just travel, you know?"

The girl in the trench coat pulled a face of pure disgust.

Vanessa, meanwhile, was too busy taking down the table's orders to notice the well-dressed couple or their disdain. I stood in the dirt where ev'ryone walked, Bob Dylan sang over a scratchy record player.

"How apt."

And at that, Vanessa spun round. Oh, no. Hell no. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf could not be in her coffeeshop. "Get out."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "Do you call that customer service?"

"I know this is Brooklyn," Chuck agreed, "But still." They both regarded her disapprovingly.

Vanessa glared back. "Don't you have other innocent lives to ruin? Puppies to kick?"

"You don't keep puppies in penthouses," Chuck explained with great patience. "Surely your little camera picked that up on your brief tour of civilization?"

And, before Vanessa could open her mouth to argue - "Anyway." Blair smiled at her. "You weren't exactly innocent, were you?" She waved a hand. "And you live...well, here. There wasn't really much of a life to ruin."

Vanessa's face screwed up in anger. "Because of you I lost my best friend. I lost my job in the gallery, I lost the people that I considered my family-"

"Yes yes," Blair sighed. "Maybe you could turn it into a country song. You never know - if it does well, you could buy yourself some new shoes." Her gaze lingered for a moment on Vanessa's...sandals. Were they sandals? The dark shirt - clearly a man's - tied to show bare midriff, the pants, the corkscrew curls spilling out of that bandanna, the...feathers that Vanessa had obviously mistaken for earrings - it really was all too much. "Hm."

"And we are truly sorry." Chuck bared his teeth. "That Rufus Humphrey chose not to leave his wife for you."

"We can't imagine why," Blair added. "We were rooting for you. Really."

"Just get out." Vanessa folded her arms. "Now. I know you think you own the planet when you're in the Upper East Side, but this is Brooklyn. And these guys?" She gestured round the cafe, "Hate people like you. So unless you want them to throw you out-"

"Please," Blair chuckled. "As if anyone here could gear their drug-addled mind into doing anything." She and Chuck shared looks of amusement at the mere concept. "Besides, we can't leave yet. We haven't told you our business proposal."

Vanessa stared in disbelief. "Are you serious? You think I'm going to listen to anything from you two?"

"Oh, I think you'll want to listen to this," Chuck assured her.

"Your rent's due next month, isn't it?" Blair smirked, sweetly. "Tell me, how are you managing to pay for a whole loft on one pathetic coffee shop's wages?"

"That's none of your business," Vanessa snarled. "And I'd rather be homeless than touch a single cent-"

"Yes," Blair rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you could go on a lovely spiritual quest with Brooklyn's vermin population. I mean the rats," she added for clarification. "Not the people. Though I'm sure it's hard to tell the difference at times." She spared a glance for the couple to her left, who smelt distinctly unwashed. Ugh.

"If you don't get out right now-"

"Vanessa?" It was her manager, a look of vague concern on his face. "Is everything, uh, cool?"

Vanessa opened her mouth to tell him that the evil, arrogant pair before her needed to be barred effective immediately - but Blair beat her to it. "Actually, we were just reminiscing about a good friend of ours. Rufus Humphrey?"

"We were," Chuck chimed in. "We were just saying how nice it would be if he were to visit. Especially given how close he and Vanessa were."

As expected, that shut Vanessa up fast. She gave them looks of absolute hatred - both of them smiled back serenely.

"Do you think we could borrow Vanessa for a bit? We need to catch up." But Blair wasn't really listening for a reply from the manager, because Vanessa would be leaving with them regardless of what he said.

"Uh..." he shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

Blair and Chuck grinned. Vanessa glowered. But she had no choice other than to follow the two of them out of the coffeehouse, aflame with self-righteous loathing and anger. She hated the Upper East Side. But most of all, she hated Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf.


Carter ran a hand through his hair as he stepped into the late morning sunlight. It felt stifling hot already, even for Brooklyn. He hadn't slept last night after the singer had left - this was the last time, he decided, that he was going to stay in a crappy Brooklynite motel. He had a pounding headache as he sauntered along the street in search of a decent cafe.

And then he came to a stop outside some coffeehouse.

Because Blair was standing on the sidewalk. Blair Waldorf, in Brooklyn. (Carter Baizen did not believe in fate. He didn't). And she was standing with Chuck Bass, the only other person Carter would least expect to venture into the lower boroughs. What the hell were they doing here? It could only be some kind of scheme. They looked deep in conversation with a curly black-haired beatnik; Carter drew close enough to catch their final words.

"...Do we have an agreement?"

The girl (whoever she was) didn't look very happy, but she nodded. "Fine. Can you let me get back to my job now? Some of us actually work."

"We'll call you when you're needed."

There was an edge of smugness to Blair's tone that spelt out a deal well made. Chuck glanced up, equally satisfied, as the Brooklynite stomped back into the coffeehouse - and it was then that his eyes met Carter's. His scowl was instant. Great. Just great. That was all they needed. Why did Carter Baizen have to be here, of all places?

"You could at least pretend to look happy to see me," Carter drawled.

Blair turned too, at that. And she definitely wasn't pretending to look happy to see him. "What are you doing here?" she asked icily. He stood in direct contrast to Chuck, shirt creased and open and hair ruffled. He looked like someone who'd spent the night with a girl and a bottle of scotch. Blair forced away the memory of a time when the thought would have driven her insane with insecurity.

"I could ask you the same question," Carter pointed out. His mouth twitched. "You do know you're in Brooklyn? Or has Bass's driver finally gone senile?"

Both of them seemed to bristle at the the implied insult to Arthur. "Are you looking for friends to travel with?" Chuck sneered back. He nodded disdainfully at the coffeehouse. "Because your people are in there, Kerouac."

Carter rolled his eyes. He ignored the other guy to glance at Blair instead. He wondered if she could have buttoned her trench coat any tighter. And there was a stab of fondness with the thought that almost crept into his voice. "Have you spoken to Eleanor yet?" he asked. Clearly the best course of action was to act as though Bass wasn't even there.

Blair, however, was very aware of Chuck staring at her between narrowed eyes. She cleared her throat. "Yes," she said, tightly. "She knew."

"What?" Carter raised a brow in incredulity.

"She knew," Blair snapped. "I'm arranging a meeting with your lawyers." She'd figured out what to do last night, in all of her and Chuck's scheming - she was going to liquidate her shares. And then give the money to Vanessa so that she'd uphold her end of the deal. The dirty cash could stay where it belonged. With trash. Blair wasn't owed money - what she was owed was a clean break. She was owed the chance to forget Carter Baizen and have nothing more to do with him. She was owed the opportunity to have people stop feeling pity for her, stop thinking she relied on Carter for everything - and especially her future.

Carter regarded her. "What's going on, Blair?"

The way he said her name made Chuck feel sick.

"What's going on is that we're in the middle of the street, and it's not the place to discuss this." Blair channelled her best Eleanor Waldorf as she pulled herself upright. "I'll let your lawyers know when I'm available."

"Ok," Carter murmured at last. He cocked his head at her. "I'll see you there."

Blair was about to inform him that his presence would not be required - but he left before she got the chance. And Chuck knew damn well that he'd done that deliberately.

Silence fell between the two of them as they stood on the street.

"So." Chuck threw her just one glance, and the jealousy that choked at his throat - the loathing for Carter Baizen - almost made it impossible to speak. It seethed. "I guess your phone call with Eleanor wasn't nothing."

He moved to his car without looking back at her.


"Chuck."

They'd finally pulled up outside of the Waldorf penthouse (after the longest silent car ride either of them had ever experienced) and he'd been about to let her out of the car. Still without looking at her.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" He sounded quite calm and she hated him for it - because she could see the knuckles clenched on his lap. The set of his jaw.

"Stop ignoring me. You're acting like a child." It was the most spiteful thing she could think of saying.

He just looked at her for a moment. "So what are you seeing Baizen's lawyers for?" he asked flatly. "Divorce proceedings? Did you forget that you never actually got married?"

She ignored the deliberate sting. "You don't get to be mad at me for withholding information, not when you didn't even tell me he was back." She glared at him. "And I'm seeing the lawyers about a deal between my mother and Edward Baizen, so it is nothing, and it has nothing to do with you-"

"If it's nothing," Chuck cut her off, cold, "Then why was did you keep it such a big secret? Why bother lying?" Because Blair only lied about the things that mattered. The things she cared about.

Why, Blair wondered, did Carter Baizen still get to ruin her life? She and Chuck should have spent this car journey celebrating the successful completion of phase one of their plan. Right now Chuck should be following her up to her apartment for more scheming and more sex. She hadn't been lying - it was nothing because they had far more important things to worry about. "Because," she bit back at last. "You really think I want to talk about Carter Baizen? You think I even want to think about him? I don't. The only thing we should be thinking about right now is Lily and Bart."

Chuck was silent. No. No, they didn't talk about Carter and they didn't think about Carter because if they did then Blair would actually have to face up to her feelings. And so would Chuck. She was fine as long as she could pretend Carter Baizen didn't exist. As long as she could pretend that her meltdown that first summer hadn't happened. As long as they could both act like Carter Baizen hadn't been the love of her life and he hadn't broken her heart. Blair didn't let herself think about it. And Chuck kissed her and fucked her and helped her, and refused to think about it either.

"You're right," he muttered.

And he saw the relief on her face. "So, can we go upstairs and get back to business?" She smiled, the smile that usually spiked his heartbeat and had him reaching for her in seconds. "I had Dorota prepare us brunch..." Strawberries and cream. She was definitely looking forward to sharing those with him.

But he held her off. "I need to do some more surveillance. And we should both wash off the Brooklyn."

Her eyes searched his face, unable to believe it. "Oh." She glanced away to hide her disappointment. "Fine." There was a rising snap to her tone as she reached for the car door. "Then I guess I'll just drink the champagne by myself."

She slammed the door behind her.


Chuck got back to the Palace - in an admittedly foul mood - to find a still drunk blonde being helped out of the hotel's bar. He stopped, sighing. "Serena."

The bartender attempting to get her on her feet looked up in relief. "You know this girl, Mr. Bass? Only she's lost her purse and her shoes, and we can't seem to get a coherent word out of her-"

For a moment Chuck was so irritated that he was almost tempted to let him throw her out on the street. They were trying so hard to protect Serena and they still couldn't protect her from herself. He'd been thrown out of bars enough times. And when he was, there was a inevitably a brunette to roll her eyes and pick him up and hold back his hair while he vomited. The same brunette who would be horrified to see Serena in such a mess.

"I'll take care of it."

He grabbed the blonde - an act that Blair had done many times before - and supported her, half-stumbling, to the elevator.

Jesus.


"Miss Blair?" Dorota was hovering, plate of strawberries in hand. "Maybe you should eat-"

"No." Blair's tone was perfectly even as she ignored her maid. "I told you to throw it all away. So throw it away."

Dorota sighed and set the plate down. "If plan not work, Miss Blair-"

"It worked." Blair was engrossed in a large blue leather bound address book. If she had Chuck's hotel directory at the expense, she thought savagely, then this process would be a lot faster. But she wasn't going anywhere near the Basstard. She hoped he was scrubbing the Brooklyn off him. In a cold shower. All by himself. "And now I have to focus on other plans," she announced. Plans like Georgina Sparks. She smiled, briefly, at the maid - and it was colder than ice. "I have a bitch to run out of town."


Chuck was indeed taking a cold shower. But he wasn't all by himself.

"Get off me," Serena mumbled as he tried to hold her under stream of water. His shirt was soaked and ruined - he had no idea how Blair had used to do this. Usually he and Nate helped pick Serena up off the bar floor and provided the food and pills while Blair did all the showering. And he was sure the last time he'd got this drunk, he'd just let Blair wash him. In fact, he had a vague memory of her climbing into the bathtub with him, and of holding onto her her - definitely not pushing her away. There was no way now that he was climbing into the bathtub with Serena. Not when her arms were flailing everywhere. They'd probably end up cracking their heads open on the porcelain tub after she pulled them both down.

(And that would be a great scenario for Blair to discover).

He somehow doubted when Lily had said she wanted them to be family that she'd intended for them to be the kind of siblings who bathed together.

"Serena," he snapped. "Will you just hold still?"

"I wanna get drunk," she was rambling. "I want to get really really drunk and be happy..."

"You said." Chuck's teeth were ground. "Several times." It must have been a blonde thing - only Nate and Serena got this repetitive when they were so far gone.

"I want Blair," Serena wailed. "You're not Blair."

Chuck gave her a look of frustration. "Do you want me to call Blair?" he enunciated very slowly. Because he knew that however pissed off she was with him, if it was for Serena then Blair would be here at the drop of a hat.

"No," Serena gasped as some of the water tipped over her hair, "Don't call Blair. We're not friends. She'd not my friend."

They'd had this conversation several times too.

"Blair's not my friend," Serena sobbed. "She picked Chuck Bass over me. She doesn't love me anymore because I thought I was in love with Tripp van der Bilt, but I'm not. I know which van der Bilt I love. There's only been one van der Bilt I've ever loved-"

"William?" Chuck asked drily as he forced her under the shower head just long enough to shut her up.

"Nate," Serena spluttered when she emerged, water blurring her vision. "I love Nate."

Chuck assessed that she was clean enough - and slightly more sober - to finally give up on the shower attempt. Now he was just faced with trying to get her out of the tub. She nearly collapsed on him, and was only saved from slipping on the tiles when he forced her to sit on the toilet. Blair, he decided, was without a doubt the strongest person he knew. (But then he'd always known that).

Serena snivelled as he wrapped a towel round her. "But he hates me and Blair hates me and even you hate me, and you're Chuck Bass." It ended in a miserable hiccough. And to think, Chuck had actually been grateful when she'd started talking because at least she was responsive.

"Chuck Bass," he rolled his eyes, "Will only hate you if you throw up on his-"

Serena heaved. And emptied her insides before he even had the chance to complete his sentence.

"Hundred dollar loafers," he finished grimly. He stared down at the disgusting mess now covering his once impeccable outfit. Serena groaned. Well, now he knew exactly how Blair had felt at Nate's party. "Thanks."


The shrill ring of the telephone disturbed Blair's search. She looked up, annoyed, as Dorota hurried to answer it for her. "Waldorf residence?" There was a pause. Then the maid glanced at her, covering the receiver. "Is for you, Miss Blair. Laurel say there is big crisis at the atelier?"

Blair repressed a noise of irritation. Of course there was. She knew enough from watching her mother to know that the fashion world had no concept of a weekend. But when, exactly, was she supposed to do her scheming? "Tell her I'm on the way." She was already reaching for her coat.

She cast one last look at the address book and then dragged her eyes away and headed for the door. Georgina would have to wait. Even though she didn't like the idea of that at all.


Chuck had finally managed to get Serena into bed. Thank God. She'd been snoring loudly as he'd headed into the bathroom for his third shower of the day. He was, quite frankly, worn out. And he was starting to sorely regret the decision not to just go home with Blair. He could have spent the afternoon licking cream off her body, instead of trying to wash vomit out of a drunken blonde's hair.

He could be in her bed right now, instead of watching said drunken blonde mess up the comforter of his own bed. At least her stomach was empty. Because if she ruined his silk sheets on top of everything else, then she was definitely ending up on the streets.

"Blair?"

Serena moaned from the bed and attempted to sit up. But the room spun too much; she ended up back on the pillows. Was she in Chuck's suite? She'd assumed that the person who had cleaned her up and tucked her in had to be Blair. But that was impossible, she remembered.

"Chuck?"

"Yes," Chuck sighed. "It's me." For the hundredth time.

"What happened?" Serena sounded utterly disorientated.

He rolled his eyes and dropped down on the sofa opposite the bed. "Before or after you nearly got thrown out of my father's hotel?"

"Ughhhh." Serena shifted on the pillows as some of it came back to her. "Georgie."

Chuck arched a brow. Well, that explained the state she'd ended up in. Only Georgina Sparks had the ability to get her that drunk. "Georgie's back in town?"

"Mmph."

"How exactly did that happen?" he enquired.

"I invited her." The blonde's voice was muffled in the pillow. Oh, God. What had she done?

"At what point did you decide that was a good idea?" Because they all knew Georgina Sparks was never a good idea. And he really thought Serena had figured that out by now. Although he guessed the real problem was that she had.

"Shut up," Serena mumbled back. "You sound like Blair."

Chuck paused, at that. "So Blair knows?"

"When does Blair ever not know anything?" came his groggy response. And then - "She was judging me last night. Probably took photos to give to the Times." She was dimly aware that she sounded like Blair now.

"There were probably enough other people doing that," Chuck responded sardonically.

"Shut up, Chuck."

There was a silence as Serena got her bearings, and all the events of yesterday came flooding black. Oh, God. Now she remembered why she'd got quite so drunk. She waited until she felt like she could sit up without the room veering off tilt before sparing Chuck a glance.

"So did Bart tell you?"

"That he and Lily are madly in love?" Chuck's lip curled. "Unfortunately."

"And now we're all supposed to be some big happy family?" Serena shook her head. Chuck said nothing, and she decided that she needed to lie down again. She stared up at the ceiling in silence. "This is your fault," she murmured.

"You had the affair with Tripp, sunshine. Not me."

"But I wasn't the only one having an affair, was I?" She continued to stare up at the ceiling. "It's your fault." Her voice was hollow. "You made Blair love you more than she loved me."

"Blair doesn't love me." The response was immediate; and then he was furious with himself for even saying it. "Anyway," he scoffed to cover it up. "I know you're not clueless enough to actually believe she's stopped loving you."

"You don't betray the people you love," Serena answered softly.

"No." Chuck's tone came out brusque. "You protect them." If you were Blair Waldorf, then you protected them.

For a moment Serena looked as though she were about to question him. But then she shook her head again and went back to looking at the ceiling. "Blair's in love with you." It was resolute. "She's just too scared to admit it."

There was a knock at the door before Chuck could reply.

And he moved straight away to answer it, shoving past what the blonde had said. He sighed as he saw who was standing on the other side of the door. "Nate."

"Hey, man. I was just coming to see if you wanted to..." Nate's voice trailed off as he noticed the figure on Chuck's bed. "Oh, I'm sorry." He grinned a little. Till he actually saw who it was. And then he froze. "Serena?" He whirled on his best friend. "Serena? You-" It stirred inside him, the memory of the nausea at discovering someone he'd thought was one of his closest friends -

"Relax, Archibald." Chuck's voice leaked sheer exasperation. That was all he needed. A black eye to complete the day - which Nate looked seconds from giving him. "She pulled a Serena."

Nate paused. Then there was instant concern in his voice. "You mean-"

"I mean I just had to throw away one of my favourite suits," Chuck sighed. "Believe me," he grimaced, "I was not having sex with that."

Nate frowned.

"Actually," Chuck went on, "You couldn't have come at a better time."

His best friend looked at him blankly. "For what?"

"Babysitting," Chuck smirked back. "Or rather, drunksitting. I have an errand to run - so if you wouldn't mind?"

And before the blond could protest, Chuck had already pushed him into the suite in his place and shut the door in his face.

Leaving Nate to turn, helpless, to the girl who could only stare at him from the bed. Her hair was damp, he noticed. She worried on her lower lip.

"Hi."

Quietly, he took the seat next to the bed. "Hi."


Chuck was on his way to the concierge to hunt down the directory when a familiar drawl stopped him. No. Not again.

"Bass."

Carter Baizen was leant idly against the desk.

"Once might have been a coincidence," Chuck sneered, "But I think twice in one day is grounds for calling security." He gave the other man a look of dislike. "Get out of my hotel, Baizen."

Carter snorted. "Funny. I thought this was daddy's hotel, not yours." He moved up and off the desk, jerking his head in the direction of the woman behind it. "And the hotel called me."

Chuck glanced at the woman too. "Let me guess. You still haven't paid your tab."

"Actually," Carter responded, "You paid my tab with the handy ten thousand you gave me." He pulled a face. "But your incompetent staff are claiming two girls were in here last night who said that Carter Baizen would foot their bill."

Chuck couldn't resist a smirk. So maybe Georgina Sparks was useful for one thing. He'd almost forgotten that the girl had never forgiven Baizen for getting her shipped away four years ago, after she'd tried to frame him with her own drugs. "I didn't realise you were so generous."

Carter scowled. "I could sue this place."

"I'd like to see you try."

Carter's expression reflected equal dislike as he folded his arms. "So. What were you doing traipsing round Brooklyn this morning? Is that the only part of New York daddy will let you have?"

(More importantly, what had Blair been doing in Brooklyn?)

"Well," Chuck jeered back, "It's obviously the only part of New York any girl would consider sleeping with you." It was deliberate. Something hard flickered in Carter's eyes.

"Um, Mr. Baizen?" It was the woman behind the desk now, finally speaking up. "I'm sorry to rush you, but there's still the matter of this bill-?"

"That I won't be paying," Carter snapped. "What kind of a hotel, exactly-"

"It's all right, Peggy." Chuck interrupted. He gave the woman an easy smile, much to her relief. "I'll handle this." He turned back to Carter. "I'm feeling generous, Baizen, even if you're not. I'll waive the bill. But I want something in return."

Carter cocked his head. "And what's that?"

"I want the number of Georgina Sparks' parents. I know you used them to drive her out of town once."

That, Carter hadn't been expecting. He studied Chuck as the wheels in his mind turned. It had to be Blair. She obviously wanted Georgina gone - she wanted the number. "I don't have it on me."

"So you've stopped taking that little black book everywhere you go?" Chuck scorned. "Please."

"Sorry," Carter shrugged in answer. He didn't sound it in the slightest.

Chuck's eyes narrowed at him. Then he turned back to the concierge. "Peggy? I think you'd better double Mr. Baizen's bill for time wasting."

Carter glowered. "Fine," he snarled. "It's still your money, anyway." He tossed a wad of cash down on the desk and stalked out.


Blair forced aside her exhaustion as she stepped out of the taxi and headed towards her penthouse for the second time that day. The sun was already starting to sink. And she was starting to empathise with her mother when she'd said that she was surrounded by incompetents. Some snotty little intern had announced that she was withdrawing all of her designs because she hadn't got to sit in on the Givenchy meeting. Which wouldn't have been a problem, had Laurel not been stupid enough to actually use one of said intern's designs for their new line. Blair hadn't been at all surprised to discover that the intern was not only from Brooklyn and related to Rufus and Dan Humphrey, but had designed a dress that looked more like a shirt anyway. As if Givenchy - Givenchy! - would be interested in something like that?

She'd told Jenny that she could take her pathetic designs as far away from her mother's company as possible - after enquiring after the health of the girl's cradle-snatching father - and then started the time-consuming search for a new person to fill the spot. She'd eventually selected a young male designer, Calvin, who was at least past his apprenticeship stage. Calvin Klein, she'd decided, had a much better ring to it than Jenny Humphrey.

And with that all sorted she was free (at last) to get back to hunting down Georgina's parents.

Except when she got to the foyer she found Carter Baizen waiting for the elevator. He had his back to her - but she knew it was him. Of course it was. Because obviously her day hadn't been tiring enough already. Obviously she needed yet another distraction from her very important mission. Obviously being forced to see him in the morning wasn't enough - and obviously he couldn't just leave her alone for one goddamn second.

"Carter."

He turned in surprise. "Blair." He glanced at her. "I thought you'd be in."

"Well, I am now." She exhaled and he suddenly noticed how tired she looked. "What do you want, Carter?"

The question hung between them. And the truth was that he didn't want to know the answer. He hadn't wanted to come back, and he didn't want it all to go back to the way it had used to be. But he wanted - he needed - to set things straight. He wanted her to look at him like he was a person again. Like he deserved her love. He wanted - her. He wanted her, and it almost consumed him as he took in her pale face and the circles under her eyes. He wanted her to smile again. He wanted her to smile at him.

"Look." Blair shook her head. "I've arranged to see the lawyers tomorrow-"

"I'm not here about that."

"Then what?" Her voice rose. "Why can't you just stop? I don't want to see you, Carter. What part of that don't you understand? You were more than happy to disappear three years ago, so why can't you do me the same favour now?" Her hands were clenched in tight fists, nails pressed into her palms as she fought to keep herself together. She was tired. She was exhausted. "What do you want?"

He gazed at her and it burned in his chest, everything he'd tried so hard to ignore and force away for so long. He swallowed, and glanced down. "I just wanted to give you this," he muttered. He pushed a piece of paper into her fist. "Oliver and Camilla Sparks."

He felt her hand go lax under his, his fingers covering hers for just a second. He could feel the warmth of her skin. It was the most contact he'd had with her in three years. The longest he'd touched her in what felt like forever.

He made himself pull away, made himself get ready to go.

"Carter." Her voice echoed, quiet, in the empty foyer. He turned back. She closed her eyes - and he wondered if there were tears trapped under their lids. But when she opened them, they were blank. "It doesn't matter how many favours you do me. I am never," she drew a deep, shuddering breath, "Going to be that stupid again." Her empty stare sliced through him. "You are nothing to me. And that's never going to change."

His hand still tingled from the memory of her skin as she left him. He wanted her back. And, he realised, he didn't think that was ever going to change.


By the time she got back up to her penthouse, Blair had composed herself enough to actually look at the paper. And sure enough, it was a number. She had to focus. No more distractions. None.

She headed for her telephone.

A few minutes later, Dorota heard her hissing down the line in disbelief. "...What do you mean you've already been contacted? Mr Sparks-"

"Has already been told about his wayward daughter."

Blair turned. Chuck was standing in the elevator doors. And she felt the lump that had gathered in her chest, all of the tension in every nerve of her body, somehow dissipate as her eyes moved over him. Here. He was here. Chuck. "Thank you," she managed into the receiver. It fell from her hands. "You...called them?" She stared at him. "You knew?"

His voice was low. "I figured we'd all had enough of Whoregina for one day."

She released the breath she didn't even know she'd been holding as he drew closer and she caught his lapels. She felt something cold dig against her and realised, then, that he was holding a bottle of Dom.

She glanced up at him, and his mouth twitched. "I thought we could share this one this time."

She pulled the bottle out of his grasp and kissed him instead. Their mouths melded and she pushed her body against his, hands fastening in his hair. "Thank you," she breathed against his skin. Inhaled him. "Thank you."

He gripped her back. Kissed her back, holding her tight in his arms. Like if he held her tight enough then he could pretend he hadn't just seen Carter Baizen leaving her building.


A/N - Some artistic license taken here...while Calvin Klein was, apparently, designing for a number of New York shops before he started his own company in 1968 - obviously Waldorf Designs wasn't one of them. Also: I just wanted to say how much I appreciate all of your reviews - they are incredible, and please please don't stop! Especially, heh, as I managed a pretty speedy update? :) I know some of you are a little opposed to the Carter/Blair romance, but I promise there is, of course, only one endgame. And the ideas about Carter being the love of Blair's life are coming from Chuck, not her...