Dan left the Waldorf penthouse, for the first time, not because he'd been ordered out. He left, for the first time, actually feeling happy. Or almost happy. He'd been able to help.

All week he'd done his best to do some digging. He wasn't a natural at extracting information. Not subtly, anyway. But he had an advantage working in his favour – he was a nobody. And people didn't bother paying attention to nobodys. He realised he was so used to living life on the sidelines, ignored, that he was actually quite good at observing.

He'd written down everything he'd heard – and he'd surprised himself, actually, by just how much he'd enjoyed the process. Observing, taking notes; it had made him feel...important. Relevant. Almost like something a journalist would do.

Dan Humphrey – a journalist? The problem with journalism, though, was that there was nothing personal about it. He'd had more fun writing when he got to include his own judgements on the situations. Sadly Blair hadn't been very interested in his own opinion.

(But maybe if he found a topic where it was appropriate to do so, she'd read it and be surprised. And that led him to a daydream in which he wrote and published an anonymous book about a prickly brunette and unrequited love that she would someday read and-)

A loud horn snapped him out of his reverie; he'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he'd stepped on to the road without looking.

"Watch where you're going, moron!"

All right. So he was a long way off being a famous author yet.

Blair had been pleased with something he'd found, anyway. He'd overheard two of the doormen talking about it – apparently a couple of years ago, Chuck and Carter had had some kind of fall out. Some kind of deal, and something to do with Chuck double-crossing Carter.

Personally, Dan didn't see how it was relevant since it was obviously water under the bridge now.

But Blair had stilled when she'd heard it. Just for a moment. And Georgina had jumped on it straight away. Georgina was the only part of the experience that Dan hadn't enjoyed – he hadn't anticipated the other girl being there. Something about her blue eyes made him uneasy. Plus she openly mocked everything he did. She'd been the one to dismiss him, too.

But one day, perhaps, Dan would write something and no one would ever dismiss him again. One day. Perhaps he'd go home tonight and just write. He didn't know why he liked the idea so much. Dan Humphrey - a writer.

Chuck hadn't spoken to Blair in several days. She'd stopped dropping by Gimlet and the Empire, since she now had Dan to report back to her. They were supposed to have been attending a few society events together – except Chuck was always busy. Blair was always secretly relieved. For no other reason than she couldn't stand his company, of course.

But this was one event that neither of them could miss.

Their engagement party.

"So it's definitely happening?" Georgina sighed as she fixed her hair.

Blair hadn't heard from Chuck in so long that the other girl had suggested maybe he was calling the whole thing off. Blair had been – irritated – beyond belief at the mere suggestion. Georgie had pointed out that Chuck pulling out would technically mean they'd won; but it didn't. Blair wanted to see him suffer. The idea of it being over had made her feel strangely empty. And that emptiness made her feel even more irritated. She needed vengeance. Besides, she didn't believe for a second that Chuck would give in that quickly. Would he? No - Chuck Bass did not get to walk away like that. Not ever.

"He said he's made all the arrangements," Blair replied now. She'd received a message from her fiance yesterday informing her that the party would be held in his suite, beginning at seven. Nothing else.

Georgina rolled her eyes. "How delightful."

Blair got up from her vanity, finally ready - Georgie spared her a critical glance and then smirked.

"Well, you look ready to kill."

Her dress was green velvet; floor length and backless, pulled in tight at the waist with pearl brocading. Her dark curls were heavy at the nape of her neck, kohl rimming her eyes and her lips dark.

Blair studied her reflection and her mouth twisted in agreement. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't be the only one ready to kill – not after what she'd pulled with Bart. Chuck excelled in revenge. And here she was, heading straight into the lair of the beast himself.

She straightened her shoulders. "Let's go."

Good thing she wasn't so bad at revenge herself.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Carter's tone was sardonic as Chuck poured himself a glass of scotch. He just gave the man a look and downed it. His tux was immaculate, his hair perfectly combed – and his eyes like flint.

"I told you I didn't want this ridiculous party," was all he bit.

Carter rolled his eyes. "And I told you – you need to focus. You're supposed to be a happy couple. How's Bart going to believe that when you haven't spoken a word to your precious fiancee since Christmas?"

Chuck had heard that Blair Waldorf was taken ill on Christmas day; he hoped she'd spent the day suffering, alone, in bed.

(But he knew she hadn't been ill at all. Just alone.)

"Bart doesn't believe it anyway."

Baizen sighed in frustration. "So, what? Are you backing out on me now? You just want to give up?"

There was a chime from the elevator – the unmistakeable click of heels. His gaze landed on her the second she appeared, and the two of them faced each other across the room. Silent. He dragged his eyes across her figure, settling on her face as he raised another glass of scotch to his lips.

His response was little more than a snarl.

"No."

"So let's all raise a glass." Carter had even provided non-alcoholic beverages for the guests to toast to – it had been a while since the glasses in Chuck's suite had seen anything of the kind. But then it had also been a while since his suite had contained so many respectable women. Most of the husbands were feigning complete ignorance to the debauchery attached to the place and its owner as they held their wives' arms. "To Blair and Chuck."

Harold found himself wishing there was something stronger as he avoided looking at the happy couple.

Blair's smile was fixed in place as her gaze landed on Chuck because she didn't want to look at Carter's smug face any more. Chuck seemed to share that sentiment – he was knocking back another glass of something that definitely wasn't water.

"Mr. Bass." A clean-shaven lawyer – Chuck knew him because he used Gimlet's back rooms to have loud sex with Louisa, his children's nanny – clapped him on the back. "You're a lucky man." His gaze loomed over the smooth skin of Blair's back. "A very lucky man indeed."

"And you're a bore." Chuck didn't even bother looking at him. He felt the dull burn of his drink as he refilled his glass. "No wonder Louisa and your wife are both sleeping with Mr. Worthington."

The lawyer turned puce, but Chuck was out of gin.

Blair caught his arm as he made for the bar – he wasn't even bothering to be subtle.

"What do you think you're doing?" Her voice was a sharp hiss. She'd seen the whole exchange – that was the fifth person Chuck had insulted in the space of as many minutes.

Chuck glanced at her, at her fingers on his sleeve. His eyes were hollow and his lip permanently twisted. She was close enough to smell the alcohol on him as his gaze burned, briefly, into her.

"Just making small-talk."

He dragged her hand off him and went back to the bar. All she could do was glare at his retreating back.

Chuck could feel Carter glaring at him too – but he could care less. This was all fucking Carter's fault anyway. And Bart wasn't even here. Of course he wasn't. Why the hell would he bother showing up to his son's engagement party? Chuck was glad; he didn't have to waste time smiling and shaking hands now.

"B!" Serena squeezed her best friend's hands with a warm beam. She looked beautiful as always in a white ruffled dress. "This party is amazing."

Blair wondered for a moment which party the blonde was at; then, glancing round, she realised that the other guests did seem to be having a good time. The ones who hadn't tried to talk to Chuck, anyway. She'd been too busy shooting daggers at him to notice.

"I'll say one thing for Chuck – he knows how to throw a party." Serena had been trying very hard to find the good in Chuck that Blair obviously saw. She elbowed Nate again as he muttered something under his breath, then directed a bright glance around the room. "Where is he, anyway?"

Blair knew exactly where the Basstard was. She saw Serena's smile fade, a little, and Nate's slow frown as they spotted him too. The bottle in his hand was too golden brown to be anything other than liquor.

"Oh." Serena paused.

Blair forced a smile. "I think he's just nervous. You know how it is." She was going to kill him. She was going to kill him.

"No," Nate said, blunt. His handsome features were still darkened in a scowl as he watched Chuck. "I was never nervous at our engagement party."

Serena frowned pointedly at him and was quick to reassure Blair again. "Well, I know I was." Serena had also been drunk at their engagement party. "Anne still thought we were joking about the whole thing, remember?" Anne had also noticed Serena's inebriated state, despite how quick Nate was to cover for her.

Nate exchanged a faint, reluctant grin with her now. Blair reflected that only Nate and Serena would find that funny.

"Don't worry." Serena pressed Blair's fingers like she could somehow press all her encouragement into them. "He has nothing to be nervous about."

Blair nodded like she agreed. On the contrary, she thought savagely. If he didn't stop right now then he'd have plenty to be nervous about. Chuck ignored her narrowed gaze and knocked back another glass. She might just start by smashing that bottle around his awful head.

"Chuck! How are you, buddy?"

Nate was in the middle of getting meringue for himself and Serena – she was tackling the other dessert table – when he saw the weaselly looking guy slink up to Chuck. Nate's brow creased in distaste. He looked exactly like the sort of person Chuck would associate with. Chuck who was still hitting the drink without any concern for his fiancee.

Well, Nate had no desire to overhear their conversation. He went to set the dessert server down and move away – and the meringue wobbled dangerously. Oh man. He didn't want to take the whole thing down.

"I just came to offer my condolences," the guy was saying.

And the white tower in front of Nate wasn't looking any more stable. This was a tad awkward. He knew he should have gone for the profiteroles on the other table. Although Serena could be a lot clumsier than him at times, so maybe not.

"...How thoughtful." Chuck's drawl sounded carelessly slurred. "But I don't remember inviting you to this party. Or to talk to me."

"Hey, I'd be getting as drunk as you if I was facing married life. Don't blame you at all, my friend."

Nate paused, frowning. He didn't snoop as a general rule – but he found himself following the man's gaze to where Blair stood too. She was in the middle of polite conversation with an elderly couple; he felt a brief pang of affection for her and that stiff smile.

"Specially to someone like Blair goddamn Waldorf. I mean, just look at her. Got to be the most uptight bitch in the whole room."

Nate felt a wave of anger on his friend's behalf. Where did this guy get off, saying things like that about her? Sure, she was uptight. It was what they all loved about her. He went to turn on the bastard, meringue forgotten – but an icy voice cut him off.

"That's my fiancee you're talking about."

It was the anger that made Nate pause. Chuck hadn't even raised his voice, but the dangerous tilt was obvious. However drunk he was.

"Come on, buddy-"

"Let me make this clear." Chuck spoke very slowly. "You are not my buddy. I hate you. Carter hates you. Everyone in this room hates you, Dalgaard. Which is why you weren't invited." He paused, and the cold menace was almost palpable. "Now get out of my sight."

Nate blinked as the man sloped off. Had Chuck Bass just -

There was a muffled crack. It took him a second to realise that the meringue had collapsed.

Chuck half turned, lip curling as he took in the ruined dessert and Nate's frown of confusion. (Partially because this never happened to him. Or to his hundred dollar suits). "Smooth, Archibald," he sneered as their gazes met for the briefest of seconds.

Then he'd picked up his bottle and disappeared.

"What is he doing?"

Blair's face was starting to hurt from smiling as she clutched her drink. She hadn't taken a single sip – or eaten anything, for that matter – as she tried to burn holes in Chuck's back. That damn bottle was still in his hand, and it was half empty now.

"Trying to get to you," Georgie sighed as she took a sip of her own drink. "Obviously."

But Blair shook her head. She'd been on edge before the party because she'd expected him to do something to get to her back. But something – well, something cold and cruel and carefully executed. Not this. This was just – a mess.

"He's not even trying to be discrete," Blair hissed back. What was wrong with him?

"Relax," Georgie muttered. She was, in contrast to Blair, in a great mood. the vodka she'd spiked her drink with helped. That, and the wrath her friend was now directing at Chuck. She couldn't have asked for anything better. "Most people are having too much fun to even notice."

Most people. Not everyone. What was really getting to Blair was that she knew this wasn't Chuck's usual style. She couldn't explain why – but this wasn't him. He was never this out of control. And she wasn't even sure he was doing it deliberately any more.

(In fact – she was insulted he didn't seem to think her worthy of enacting deliberate revenge on.)

The latest woman who'd approached him had now gone very red; Blair watched her turn on her heel and storm away.

"Right." She ground her teeth. "That's it." She was more than ready to go over and castrate him, or something – but Georgie grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Just hold on." She nodded in the opposite direction. "Look."

Carter Baizen was also watching Chuck. And his expression was downright pissed off. In fact, he looked as ready to kill his best friend as Blair was.

"See?" Georgie murmured. "Whatever he's doing is obviously messing up their little plan. I say let him get on with it."

But Blair could care less about Carter Baizen. "Just let him humiliate me?" she demanded.

Georgie scoffed as she glanced at Chuck again. "The only person he's humiliating is himself."

"No." No, Georgie didn't get it. They were engaged – if Chuck made a fool out of himself, then he made a fool out of Blair too. She could see one of the guests approaching him now with a thunderous expression. He had to be the husband of that woman. She yanked herself out of Georgie's grasp, ignoring the other girl's noise of annoyance. "I'm putting a stop to this. Now."

"Sorry." Chuck couldn't have sounded less sorry if he tried – he wasn't even looking at the guy. "But if your wife didn't want to be mistaken for a whore, she shouldn't have dressed like one."

"You son of a-" The guy's fist would have knocked him down right there, had a body not slipped between them. The guy blinked in surprise at the tiny brunette now in his way.

"Chuck. There you are."

Blair's tone was light, but her sudden grip on Chuck's sleeve was not.

"We need a word. Now." She glanced at the furious guy with a smile. "I'm so sorry; I just need to borrow him for a second. Have you tried the meringue? You really must."

And she was dragging Chuck off before he could say anything else.

Chuck tried to jerk out of her hold; but she dug her nails in, wrapping her arm tightly round his as she managed to haul him along with her, out of the reception room and along the corridor till they reached the privacy of his study.

She made sure the door was shut before rounding on him.

"What are you doing? Apart from trying to ruin my life, obviously?" He noted the rising colour in her cheeks, the furious glow of her brown eyes as she faced him. She really was a lot smaller than him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Careful, now." Her anger didn't seem to affect him in the slightest. "We wouldn't want someone to hear you curse. Not Blair Waldorf."

Her eyes slanted. "What are you playing at?" she hissed.

He just rolled his eyes and went to turn away – he didn't want to be in a room with her – but she grabbed his arm, jerking him back round.

His eyes flickered down to where she'd touched him. He was suddenly very close. "You want to play rough now, Waldorf?" His voice was low above her ear; scotch rolled off him in waves. He was so close he could feel the heat of her anger as his fingers took hold of her bare forearms. He held her out in front of him, leaned down into her face. He could feel each breath she took, hear how they caught in her throat. "You only had to ask." His voice was low, rough – almost a whisper.

"Let go of me, Chuck."

She didn't falter.

He could have taken her right then; could have pushed her back against the desk and it would have been so easy. Alcohol coursed through his veins and she was the one who'd shut them in here – away from the party. He could have taken her and put a stop to all this. Her skin was deliciously flushed, curls framing her face that was tilted up, into his. His hands still gripped her arms. She didn't falter, but he could feel the effect his proximity had on her as she swallowed.

It was like she was challenging him to do it.

He released her with a hoarse scoff, pushing her away. His jaw was impossibly tight as she ignored the thump of her heart – the odd feeling that the sudden distance caused – disappointment – no. No.

"Why don't you go back to your little party?" he sneered now. He was no longer looking at her. (He couldn't).

Sudden fury gripped her.

"Our party." Her voice crackled with anger. "Our party, Chuck – or have you forgotten that you're the one who wanted this?" He was looking at her now. She stayed exactly where she was, suddenly pale as her eyes flashed. "You brought this upon yourself the moment you picked me. Did you really think," she hissed, "That I'd let you get away with doing this to me? You wanted to marry me, Bass. You asked for this. You ruined my life." There wasn't a shred of compassion in her gaze. "Now I'm going to ruin yours."

Chuck stared at her. Her face, her rigid body. And then he let out a snort. "I ruined your life? What did I ruin, exactly? Your chance to become the next princess of Monaco?" His eyes burned with sheer derision. "I ruined your decision to settle for someone as pathetic as Louis? Don't tell me," he made a noise that almost verged on a laugh, "That you convinced yourself that you were in love with someone that dull. Even you're not that deluded."

Her nostrils flared; he paused for a moment as he regarded her.

"No. That's not it, is it?" He tilted his head. "Is it, Blair?" His voice was very soft in the space between them. "I told you a month ago that I knew something about you no one else did. I guess my deadline's almost up – but here it is." His lip curled. "You're a coward. You're scared. Too scared to go after what you actually want – so scared you'd rather settle."

Her head jerked like he'd slapped her.

"But if you want to tell yourself that I destroyed your chance at true love with that imbecile – if it makes you feel better – then go ahead." He lifted a shoulder. "Makes no difference to me."

A small, strangled noise escaped her. "Love?" She didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry now. "Love?" She took a sudden step towards him. "You idiot. You stupid -" Her voice caught. When she spoke again, it was very low. "I needed money. I was going to get the money I needed from that French fool. And then you – you messed it all up."

Chuck stared at her. "Money?" But it was suddenly all, slowly, clicking into place.

"My family are in debt," she hissed. "And if I'd married Louis, I would have had more than enough to pay it all back. But that's not going to happen now." Her small hands were clenched, her expression blank with rage. "And you – you think I'm the coward? You? Why don't you look in the mirror, Chuck?" She ignored the sudden stiffness in his jaw; ignored the sudden flicker in his eyes. "I'm not the one who's hiding from Bart." There it was – she'd said the magic word. "Look at you," she snarled. "You can't even hear his name without flinching, and he's a miserable old man who's not even worthy of your time. But you spend all this time plotting and pretending you want a wife so you can – what? Get his approval?"

Because, really – what was this all about? Why had Chuck gone through with the dinner when she knew exactly how Bart made him react? That was the real reason he'd got so drunk tonight. She knew it was. But why put himself through it in the first place?

"I don't want his approval." He spat the word out. "I want my trust fund."

There was a moment of silence. That was it? "That's what this is all about?" she echoed, staring at him. "You did all this just for your trust fund?"

"It's two million dollars," Chuck laughed bitterly. "It's not just a trust fund. I need the money."

She was silent again. "Money." When she finally spoke, she sounded almost weary. "We both want money." Of course Chuck Bass would be the only person as soulless and materialistic as she was.

He was silent too - how could he not have figured this out? Of course she was trying to get money for her father. And of course she was the one who'd got closer to suceeding that the man himself. The fool who was in the other room right now pretending none of this was happening.

(And there was a small, impossibly bitter lump of something he couldn't describe - she was trying to save the man who'd just sold her out. He suddenly wanted to tell her not to waste her efforts, that the fool wasn't even worthy of her time - except he knew she'd never listen. Not where her father was concerned. And it was none of his business, he reminded himself. Why did he even care?)

All this time, she'd wanted exactly the same thing he did. He glanced at her as he considered this, just for a second.

"So...we want the same thing."

Their gazes met. It was gone as soon as it had arrived, and they would both deny it as long as they lived. But it was still there.

Understanding.

"Apparently." Blair's voice was slightly stiff – but he could tell what they were both thinking.

"Clearly," Chuck sighed at last, "Things aren't going well for either of us."

"And sabotaging each other isn't exactly helping," Blair admitted with great reluctance. She folded her arms, tight. "So what do you propose?"

They watched each other.

"I suppose we could work...together." It sounded like the smartest move at the moment, and they both knew it. Smarter, perhaps, than waiting for their mutual destruction. Or whatever this stalemate was. "If you can help me prove to Bart that I'm...serious, then he'll be more inclined to unfreeze my account."

"A married man needs to provide for his family," Blair agreed. It was difficult for her to say the word family, and difficult for Chuck to hear it – they moved on, quickly. "A court of law would have to agree with that." Even if Bart himself didn't. Chuck nodded, and Blair's arms were still folded. "So then what do I get out of this?"

"Once I have the money – I'll do what I can to help." Once Fabiano was off his back. "I may not be a prince, but I'm not exactly poor. And I do have some...specialty, where debts are concerned."

Most of his business was based on them, after all. And he doubted Harold owed money to anyone as dangerous as Fabiano. Something flickered, at the back of his mind, as he realised that he was actually considering helping her. Would he? Harold may not have deserved a penny, but it wasn't like the Waldorfs going bankrupt wouldn't affect her either.

Blair was hesitating too. "How do I know you'll come through?"

Chuck regarded her for a beat. "You don't."

Blair's mind raced way ahead of her. There was one thing in life that she was sure about. Trusting people – depending on them – was stupid. Why would Chuck help her afterwards? Helping him now, though, would get them more money. And if her plan was ultimately to destroy him and take his money anyway – not an if, she reminded herself sharply – then gaining more couldn't hurt. Right?

Chuck, meanwhile, was sure she wouldn't go for this. Agree to help him when his end of the deal was so uncertain?

He watched and waited for her to back out.

She pursed her lips – and then she said slowly, finally; "Ok."

She was up to something. She had to be. Didn't she? She tried not to flinch – or so much as blink – as that dark gaze examined every inch of her face. She couldn't tell if he believed her or not.

"Ok."

That gaze was still locked on hers as he held out his hand. She almost hesitated again – but she forced herself to slip her own into his hold. His larger fingers closed over hers for a moment, surprisingly hot. Perhaps because the last time they'd shaken hands, they'd both been half frozen from the rain. But now she could feel the heat of his skin enclosing hers, and she found that she had to steady her voice when she spoke again.

"So we have a deal?"

She felt the pressure of his fingers on hers; his voice was low too.

"We have a deal."

They glanced at each other a second more, confirming - and then she pulled her eyes away. He released her as her gaze skimmed the shelf rather than his face. And that was when she noticed that the picture was gone.

Not the damn picture. Not again. Why had she even noticed? What difference did it make? She didn't care. It wasn't even a picture; it was a gap on a bookshelf that meant nothing.

"We should probably get back out there."

She turned her back on the shelf. "Yes."

And she didn't understand why she felt so strange – why her hand tingled like it had been burnt – as she followed him out.

A/N - I hope you don't hate me too much for skipping out Christmas and making them spend it alone...not a lot of fluffy moments in this chapter, I'm afraid! Thank you so much for your reviews. Seriously, they're amazing :) I will try to update as quickly as possible.