Chapter Six: Somewhere Only We Know
You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve.
And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground.
Dig them up; let's finish what we've started
Dig them up, so nothing's left unturned
– Flaws by Bastille
:::
Spotted: A wicked queen and a dark knight stepping foot on familiar ground. Carolyn367 sent us this picture of a beautiful headband-bearing brunette and her dashing companion donning a certain signature scarf. Could it really be C and B returning to reclaim their kingdom, or are they just back to settle some old scores? Brace yourselves, Upper East Siders. Not a soul will be spared.
:::
November 21st, 2007: The George Washington Bridge
"You're nervous."
"I don't get nervous."
"You don't fool me, Waldorf," Chuck drawled, eyeing her from across the limo's backseat. "I know you." At his words, Blair sighed. She reached up to fuss with her updo again, pinning and repinning her perfect curls until Chuck leaned over and yanked her hands away. Much to her dismay, his own fingers pulled through her hair, fixing it until it was just right again. "You're worried that your ex will still have a taste for a certain van der Woodsen when you see him tonight."
Blair slapped his hand away. "They're not together." Blair paused, looking at him. "Are they?"
Chuck shrugged as if she'd just proven his point. "I told you that we could ask my PI."
"That's creepy."
"It's effective," Chuck corrected.
"I'm not discussing this with you anymore," Blair snapped. Just as she said it, the limo hit a bump. They were just crossing the George Washington Bridge, heading back into the city for Thanksgiving break. As they swerved into the next lane, Blair nearly fell into Chuck's lap, sending a squeal from her glossed lips.
"Can't get enough, can you?" Chuck smirked, cupping her face as she pushed off of his leg. As always, Blair shot him a dirty look, but he couldn't help but notice that she shifted over to sit right beside him as she collected her things. Chuck watched as bits and pieces of Blair Waldorf's life were thrown back into the lavender Marc Jacobs bag in her hands. Her favorite nude gloss, rose petal mints imported from Paris, a tiny black notebook with her initials engraved on the cover, and, of course, The Art of War. Chuck smiled and helped her, reaching over to pick up one more book that had slipped under the seat. "Forgetting something?"
Blair blushed as she took the book from his hands, clutching it for a moment before gingerly placing it in her bag. Her birthday had just passed, and Blair had found How to Be Lovely: The Audrey Hepburn Way of Life beside her pillow on that very morning. Inside was a small note that read, "We all need a fix of our adoration. —C"
Sure, Diana, Jenny, and the rest of the Briar population who already worshipped Blair had lavished her with gifts and servitude for the rest of the day. But her mind had remained on Chuck, and she found herself clutching the book tightly to her chest as she filed through her classes. He did know her.
"You just need to relax," Chuck insisted, snapping out of her thoughts and pulling her back onto his lap. Blair moaned in surprise as his lips descended upon hers. He gave her a sweet kiss, a quick one, and his nose brushed her cheek before he pulled back to look at her.
She was breathless as he popped open the buttons of her blouse, his knuckles following a trail between her breasts, to the dip of her bellybutton, and down to the waist of her short black skirt. Chuck let out a ragged breath as he pushed her down onto the seat, splaying her across it and gingerly spreading her legs.
"Chuck," Blair breathed, her body tensing, her limbs tightening as he touched the inside of her thighs. He lifted one leg and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her knee. He hushed her, forcing the hesitance from her with light kisses, murmurs of how soft she was, how beautiful. Blair panted, staring up at the ceiling of the car, overwhelmed when he finished his journey, his fingers tugging her tiny purple panties down, his breath fanning out over her sex.
"Fuck, Blair. You're dripping." Chuck touched her with one finger first, teasing before he sank right into her, watching in wonderment as she coated his finger, indeed dripping onto the seat underneath her. The combination of his words, of being completely exposed to him, sent trickles of heat to the pit of her stomach and down to her core. When his lips skimmed her wetness, she gasped, her thighs brushing his cheeks, her fingers yanking at his hair to tug his head up. But he was having none of it. Instead, he cruelly pushed her thighs even farther part than before, shoving her skirt around her hips. "Relax, Blair."
"But we're almost home," Blair argued. "I—"
"I can be fast," Chuck murmured against her. "But you already know that. Don't you?" She barely had a moment to recall their hasty time in the library before his tongue swept across her wet folds, tasting her as another finger joined the first. Blair saw stars, incoherent whimpers escaped her throat, filling the limo. Chuck growled. Listening to his name fall from her lips, feeling her frantic fingers tug through his hair, it turned him on like nothing else. Her hips rose to meet his mouth in broken thrusts, her panic in the shadow of pleasure as she rose and rose to the brink of something she'd never felt before.
"Please, Chuck. Please," Blair cried, begging for something she couldn't quite understand, pushing her thighs together to hold him against her. She just needed…just wanted him to—
And then his lips found her clit and suckled, a third finger curling into her with the rest. His other hand reached up, slid to her stomach and held her down. Blair seized under him and cried out, her legs shaking in spasms, her eyes rolling back until white light swam behind her lids. He continued to hold her, lapping up the prize of his labors as she fell from her high. Finally, her hips dropped back onto the leather bench, a long sigh escaping her lips as strands of hair fell around her face.
"Chuck," she whispered. He waited for her to continue, but she only shot him a hazy smile and closed her eyes again. Chuck grinned, pleased that he had this effect on her. He gently tugged her skirt back down, buttoned her blouse up and slid everything back into place. He fought his own desire, focusing solely on Blair when he pulled her up into his arms, drawing lazy circles on her bare thigh. "Chuck…" she murmured again, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. It was so unlike her to show this much affection. She was always playfully teasing him, running off just to torture him. But now her smile was almost adoring, and he found himself cuddling her against his side.
"How was that?" Chuck asked, stroking the curve of her cheek.
Blair shook her head, her eyelashes tickling his neck. "It was…"
"Mister Bass, we've arrived at the Waldorf's penthouse."
Arthur's loud knock on the partition shattered their moment, and Blair jerked out of his arms, much to Chuck's disappointment. She righted herself, avoiding his eyes as she checked a small compact for smudges in her perfection. She hitched her bag onto her shoulder and let out a long breath before Arthur opened the door for her. But before she could escape him, Chuck caught her wrist and held her there, one heel parked on the pavement.
"I'll see you at the benefit tonight," Chuck said, a twinge of desperation in his voice.
"The benefit," Blair repeated, her eyes widening. "I'd almost forgotten…"
"I can imagine," Chuck smirked, nodding at where she'd just been laying. "You were a bit preoccupied."
Blair flushed again, and the lovely glow remained on her cheeks. "Everyone will be there. Kati, Iz…"
"Serena and Nate," Chuck finished, his eyes darkening when her expression soured. Once upon a time, they'd all been friends. But friendships on the Upper East Side were like the bronze finishes that adorned their penthouses and brownstones—beautiful and brandished. But sooner or later, rainfall would force them to rust. Chuck stopped for a moment, his hand sliding from her skin. "I'll pick you up at seven."
Blair blinked, surprise lighting up her face. "You want to be my date?"
"Consider it another perk of our agreement," he drawled, tipping her chin. Blair rolled her eyes and smiled. Of course Chuck Bass thought himself to be God's gift to mankind. She was just about to turn him down, opting to go stag, when both of their phones chimed simultaneously. And now that they were back in the city, that could only mean…
Rumor has it that two blondes were seen picking out some new garb for tonight's benefit. Poor B, seems like the saying has been wrong all along. Absence makes the heart grow fonder…for someone else.
Blair frowned at the Gossip Girl blast, staring down at the picture of Nate and Serena at Bloomingdale's. Serena looked older now, her hair glowing with highlights, her legs bronzed and long. She held an orange dress up to her chest in the picture, white teeth bared to Nate as he appraised her figure. Blair's grip on her phone tightened, to the point where Chuck thought she might break it. He reached out and pried it from her fingers, turning it off and dropping it into her purse.
"Seven?" Chuck asked again, forcing her chin up so that she would look at him.
"Seven," Blair agreed, steadying herself as she stepped out of the limo and took her suitcase from Arthur. Chuck smiled as she walked into her building, inexplicably delighted when she grinned back at him before sauntering through the doorway.
"Arthur," he called out when the limo was in motion again, advancing down Park Avenue. "We're going to make a few stops before tonight's benefit. Starting with the florist."
:::
November 21st, 2007: The Waldorf Penthouse
The Waldorf Penthouse was exactly as Blair had left it at summer's end. She paused in the foyer for a moment, trying to feel an ounce of emotion, trying to grasp onto something that wasn't there. This should have been the moment when memories came fluttering back, when nostalgia and homesickness clouded over. But she could only recall a fleeting afternoon at her eleventh birthday party, a miniature version of herself flouncing around this very floor.
She'd had shorter hair then, with dark auburn curls that bounced around her shoulders. The entire fifth grade class had been present, Kati and Isobel following her around, even at that age. Blair was enjoying the spotlight, pleased by all of the attention her birthday brought her. The room was dripping with purple, bows and silk table covers, dyed peonies and a five-tier cake in the dining room.
"Miss Blair," Dorota had called, shuffling Blair into the living room. "Miss Eleanor say it's time for pictures." Blair pouted as she was pulled away from her adoring little crowd. Across the room, Harold had smiled at his daughter's disgruntled expression, encouraging her to go on with a slight nod.
"Mother always—"
"I always what?" Eleanor had sighed, coming up behind her daughter. Blair froze, her face dropping as her mother immediately went to fix the bow at her back, tugging at the fabric of her dress. "And what is this? Your outfit…it's all wrong. Blair, what have we discussed about chiffon and Mary Janes?"
Blair frowned, shifting away from her mother's clenching fingernails. "Dorota let me get ready on my own because it's my birthday. Don't you like it? I tried to copy your magazines, and…"
"Well," Eleanor had sighed, disappointment coloring her features. "You copied them wrong. And this—" Eleanor yanked the thin orange headband from Blair's hair. Blair yelped, trying to reach for it before her mother cast it to the side. "—does not match with that dress. Dorota, take Blair back into her room and help her change into something more tasteful." Dorota had given Blair a sympathetic pat as they shuffled up to her room, putting a simple blue dress on her. They sat at Blair's vanity as Dorota pinned her hair up, Blair trying her hardest to keep the hurt from her expression.
"Miss Blair," Dorota had tried, spinning the girl in her seat. "Your mother just want you to look perfect for party. She care about you very much." Blair nodded, avoiding the maid's eyes as she left the room, heading back downstairs. The foyer was empty, and Blair heard a fit of laughter from the sitting room. She frowned as she poked her head in, gasping when she saw her guests all lined up for pictures already, Serena and Nate standing at the center of them all.
"Darling, you need to wait for Blair," Harold had demanded, trying to take the camera from wife.
"Nonsense," Eleanor had hissed, yanking the camera back. "She'll be down in a minute. I just want to get a few shots of these two." She pointed at Nate and Serena, who looked like a pair straight out of a GAP commercial. "They're absolutely stunning." Blair could take it no longer, and she fled the room, curling up at the foot of the grand staircase. Her head sank into her hands, tears staining the lap of her dress. She was so lost in her sobbing that she could not hear the footsteps come up beside her. She had felt a hand tap her shoulder, and she startled, immediately wiping the tears from her cheeks. She glanced up at the dark-haired boy in front of her.
"You alright, Waldorf?" Chuck had asked, adjusting the small bowtie around his neck. "You're missing your party."
"It's more like Serena's party," Blair murmured as he sank down beside her. They sat in silence for a moment, Blair steadying her breath and Chuck watching her.
"You shouldn't cry," Chuck finally shrugged.
"I wasn't crying," Blair snapped, wiping the last of the wetness from her face.
"Okay," Chuck mused. "You weren't crying." He tried to make light of the situation, but the frown remained on her face. Feeling for the small black box beside him, he said, "Do you want your present?"
At this, Blair perked up. "A present?" He nodded and placed the box in her lap. Blair bit her lip as she lifted the lid, revealing a small diamond tiara, glittering against the black satin, one that she'd seen countless of times, nestled in the hair of her idol on the silver screen. She gasped, dropping the box away to trace the shiny studs with the tips of her fingers. "Chuck, I don't know what to say…" She frowned, glancing at him. "Did your nanny pick this out for you?"
Chuck rolled his eyes. "I'm Chuck Bass. I pick out my own things." And it was true. He'd taken one of his various Bart-controlled credit cards and had Arthur drive him over to Cartier. Of course, it was Arthur who'd purchased the diamonds for him, but it was Chuck's gesture all the same.
"But how did you know?" Blair asked.
"You make us watch Breakfast at Tiffany's every time we come over," Chuck huffed, disapproving. "It wasn't hard to guess." He couldn't help but smile as she excitedly slid the band onto her head, the diamonds radiant against her messy curls.
"I love it," Blair grinned. "It's perfect." She sat upon the step, poised to give him a chaste hug. Chuck tensed in preparation, his arms raising as she leaned over, but a voice broke into their moment. Nate stood in the hallway, smiling at Blair with a toothy grin, telling her to come take a picture inside. Blair immediately jumped up, and Chuck watched as a little princess who would one day be a queen returned to her subjects. Realizing that his arms were still outstretched, he frowned and dropped them, watching her go. But before she followed Nate back into the sitting room, she turned back to Chuck.
"Thank you," Blair had chirped.
"You're welcome." He paused, eyes raking over her tiny form. "I liked your first dress, by the way. Purple suits you."
Blair had smiled then, giving him a little twirl before tilting her chin up. "I picked it out myself."
"Miss Blair!" Dorota now came barreling towards Blair, pulling her into a tight hug. As she loosely wrapped her arms around Dorota, the memory slipped away from her. Blair eyed the staircase, glancing at the bottom step where she'd cried, and she thought of the boy who'd saved her. She thought of the boy who was saving her now. Years had passed, but the answer was somehow still the same.
"Hello, Dorota," Blair said kindly, giving the woman a light squeeze before pulling away. She glanced around, listening for her mother's ever-present voice barking into her cell phone, and even for Cyrus's murmuring as he hung on her every word. But the apartment was silent, completely desolate. "Is Mother out?"
The maid clasped her hands behind her back, looking nervous. "Miss Blair…Miss Eleanor is still in Singapore with Mister Cyrus."
"She's…" Blair trailed off, holding her breath. "Did you not tell her I was arriving today? God, Dorota. I only asked you to do one thing."
"Miss Blair, I did tell her," Dorota murmured, taking her bags and helping her up the stairs. "She say that Thankgiving is too short to fly back in from business trip. She and Mister Cyrus will stay in Singapore for break." The words deafened Blair for a moment, sending her into a fit of paralyzing shock. She sat on her old bed, clutching at the sheets as Dorota went on, fixing the rest of her things. "Miss Eleanor say to call Miss Serena and have Thanksgiving at the van der Woodsen penthouse."
Blair's throat dried. "You're kidding."
"She say sorry—"
"Sorry?" Blair echoed, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them away, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. "I don't know why I'm so surprised. I don't know why I even came back."
She felt a rush of panic, the control slipping as if it were sand through fragile fingers. The feeling rose to her throat, and she gasped, gripping her own knees as she leaned forward. Dorota went to help her, but Blair waved her away, demanding that she fix her a cup of tea downstairs. The minute her maid was out of sight, Blair grabbed for the box of macaroons she'd always kept stored in her nightstand. She shoved one after the other into her mouth, tasting nothing as she swallowed it all down. She didn't cry or feel. Because this was all she had. And as she leapt up to run for her bathroom, she knocked her purse over, sending her books to the floor. Her hand dropped from her mouth as her eyes caught the stunning picture of Audrey on the cover of the book Chuck had gifted her. She turned to the bathroom, and then she turned back, picking the novel up from the floor. She traced the letters of the title. How to Be Lovely.
Audrey Hepburn would never stick her fingers down her throat. She would never wretch out her problems. Blair set the book down, sitting back at the edge of her bed as the food settled in her stomach. Of course, she thought of Chuck as the urge faded away. She thought of his hands on her in Briar's kitchen, of raw desperation, one that entirely matched her own.
You're not going to do it.
Blair exhaled, closing her eyes.
I'm not going to let you do it.
She clutched at her stomach.
Use this—
Blair smiled as Dorota brought in her tea, already distracting Blair with chatter about that night's benefit.
—and forget everything else.
:::
November 22nd, 2007: The Briar House, Dexter Hall Dormitories
Diana was not one to bother with the formalities of family holidays. She did what she pleased, going with whatever she felt was right. And as she couldn't bear another stiff dinner in her aunt's stiff, musky manor in Connecticut, she felt that Briar was right—even if it meant eating dry turkey from cafeteria trays and wandering through the halls all on her own. Well, not exactly on her own. Students mulled about here and there, including Damien Dalgaard, who was parentless on these occasions, just as she was. With his father in another rehabilitation stint and his mother completely off the grid, Damien was the only one who knew this feeling. And with Jenny gone, back in Manhattan with Chuck and Blair, Diana fully intended on reminding him of it.
She sighed, tugging a lock of straight black hair above her upper lip, creating a faux mustache as she kicked her feet against the bench she sat on. Exhausted by her boredom, she bounced up and skipped over to the student lounge, passing a few of the Thanksgiving stragglers on the way. Diana paused when she noticed a familiar head of jet black hair, belonging to a boy she'd recognize anywhere. She couldn't hold herself back for even a moment.
"Excusez-moi, Monsieur Dalgaard," Diana huffed, taking on a fake accent as she plopped down on the seat beside him. "You're in my seat." A smile cracked upon Damien's lips as he glanced at Diana's arched eyebrow, her amused eyes.
"Oui, oui," Damien retorted, scrambling for the bit of French he'd failed during his freshman year. Diana laughed at him as he grumbled a terrible accent, shifting over to give her some room to sit down. She bit her lip, and they grinned at each other like two lost children who'd just been reunited. "So…none of Aunt Evil's dry turkey this year?"
"Aunt Eva," Diana corrected, "won't have the pleasure of my company this year. In all honesty, I think she's screwing her pool boy. That's not exactly something I want to bear witness to."
"Jesus," Damien said, lightly shoving her knee. "Don't put that image in my head."
"Oh, come on," Diana insisted, shoving back. "You know that Eva always had that sick little crush on you." They both shuddered, remembering the many times Diana's older, intense aunt had practically pounced on him when he'd stayed over at her manor for the holidays last year.
"You're sick," Damien groaned, but his voice was airy and relaxed. Diana smiled and kicked her legs up onto his lap, toying with the sleeve of his white sweater. This was easy for them, love that needed not to be explained nor labeled, ruined nor lost. To have one who so honestly cared for the other…it was all Diana wanted. It was all Damien wanted. And, just for a moment, his mind emptied of the blonde he'd bid farewell to the day before.
"I miss you," Diana murmured, her chin falling to his shoulder. "I miss your stupid jokes, and I miss getting drugged up until the laughter hurts and the stars fade and you and I are the last ones standing. I miss my best friend."
"Diana—"
"Don't," Diana snapped, gripping his arm. "Don't make me feel like I'm some two-timing whore for wanting to be with you. I've always been here, Damien. Me. I went with you to visit your father in rehab. I snuck drinks into the Westminster Chapel with you when we both failed our midterms and needed to forget it. I was there for everything. We have a history." Her voice dropped low, her blue eyes glowing with honesty. "We're real."
Damien swallowed. "I know." He sighed. Real. Realer than one of Chuck's commands. Realer than a girl who made him smile on the surface but knew nothing about playing in the dark. "You don't have to tell me. I know."
"So then explain this thing with Jenny," Diana demanded. A sharp laugh escaped her throat, one of disbelief, one to mask the hurt. "Tell me that you and she are—" She was silenced by his lips on hers. To want something this much…it took them higher than any drug they'd swallowed, sniffed, or snorted. This was pure bliss.
Damien blinked at her when he pulled away, immediately wanting to taste her lips again. "If we…I don't know what's going to happen when…"
"It's okay," Diana cut in, her eyes eager now, her smile bright. "We'll figure it out together. We always have. Together."
"Together," Damien agreed before tugging her closer, lifting her to straddle his lap, his head falling back as her lips found the spot of tender skin where his ear met his neck. Her hair fell around them, curtaining their kiss as he moved his hips against hers in the empty lounge, hiding the rest of the world from their embrace.
But not hiding the rest of the world from them.
:::
November 21st, 2007: The Henry Sinclair Benefit for Impoverished Children
They only felt guilt.
Nate and Serena clutched at their drinks, desperate to settle their nerves as the Sinclair benefit kicked into full swing. Billionaires were all around them, talking endlessly about absolutely nothing as they sipped champagne from silver flutes. It felt like years had passed since they'd said goodbye to Blair that summer. The tides had turned, the leaves had darkened to a confused, angry cross of red and orange. Serena had fallen in love with a boy from Brooklyn, a boy with a name like Dan Humphrey. And her attention was as sporadic as the wind, costing her relationship with her family. Nate's world had crumbled into newspaper clippings and court hearings. His father was a disappointment, and his mother was made of stone. And no one, not even a beautiful, strong-willed little brunette was there to pick up the pieces.
"Do you think she'll be here?" Serena asked, twiddling her thumbs. They'd decided to team up for this very occasion, hoping to plead their case to Blair together, hoping to salvage the twisted normality that had existed before she'd gone to boarding school. But as Nate stood beside Serena, he reconsidered the idea, realizing that Blair would go ballistic upon seeing them together after what had happened at the Sheperd wedding.
"I hope so," Nate shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. Serena distractedly waved at her real date from across the room. Dan waved back, out of place among the sea of Armani suits and dresses ripped straight from Madison Avenue. But Serena's face was adoring, her smile lighting up the entire room.
Nate wondered if could get away with sneaking away to roll a joint.
"Maybe she won't show up."
"I think," Serena breathed, staring across the room, her lips parted. "I think…she already did." Nate followed her gaze and nearly lost his footing as a brunette dressed in scarlet descended upon the room. Blair looked stunning in her floor-length gown, the red silk hugging her breasts and holding tight around her hips. Loose curls tumbled down to her lower back, her eyes sparkling behind the browns and creams of her makeup. Her cheeks were happily flushed, her lips painted with red, too. Behind her, a man shrugged her shawl off, his smile wicked as his hands brushed her arms.
Serena let out a sharp breath. "That's…"
"Chuck," Nate finished. "That's Chuck Bass." The two glided through the room as if they were some scandalous, hot couple residing on Park Avenue. His hand rested on her lower back, his lips brushing against her ear. Chuck said something snarky, and she laughed like Nate had never seen her before, so unreserved and brazen. Nate was just about to mention it to Serena when Blair suddenly looked up, catching his eye from across the room. She froze and Chuck tensed, taking in the sight of his old best friend.
And then the two of them were there, two dark souls reflecting everything that Nate and Serena were not. And, for once, Blair was not ashamed of it.
"Well, I'd love to say that I'm surprised," Blair drawled, snatching a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. "But I'm not. This all really stirs up the memories. You two…that lovely faux innocence in your eyes. I even think there's an empty barroom through those doors over there." Blair leaned forward, red lips curling up to reveal dimples. "Stop me if you think you've heard this one before." Beside her, Chuck coughed back a laugh, casting a nod at Nate, who just frowned in confusion.
"B…" Serena started. "I know that we've had our issues, but there's so much to catch up on, and I thought we could use this time to do that."
"So that I can get a play-by-play on the Serena show?" Blair shook her head, downing the rest of her champagne. "Thanks, but no thanks."
Serena took a breath, glancing at Nate for help, but he only shrugged. Chuck's gaze remained cool, entertained by what was unraveling before him. "B, when you left this summer, we were friends. I thought things were good between us."
This time, Blair's face darkened. She looked at Nate and then back at Serena with pure disgust. "That was before you had sex with my boyfriend. That was before you exiled me to boarding school." Blair backed away, almost leaning on Chuck for support. "In what world did you think I'd forgive you for that? Because it isn't this one."
"Blair…"
"Now if you'll excuse me, I need some air," Blair said. But before she left, Chuck stopped her, sliding his silver flask into her hands. Serena expected her to be appalled, just as the old, prissy Blair would have been. But she only smiled and took it from him, discreetly refilling her flute with scotch. Chuck smirked as she gulped it down, touching the edge of her lips to check for smudges in her lipstick. And then she was gone, her hips swaying as she sidled through the crowd, appraised by every single person she passed by. After thoroughly admiring her retreating form, Chuck turned back to the two blondes, raising his flask before blatantly drinking out of it.
"Chuck, what's going on?" Serena demanded, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
"Nice to see you, too, S," Chuck smirked. "I hear that you've been slumming it on the other side of the bridge lately. Your taste really has taken a turn for the worst in Blair's absence."
"Dude, Blair's my girlfriend," Nate spat, ignoring his words, suddenly overcome with an ounce of bravery. "You and Blair, seriously?"
At this, Chuck shook his head. "You mean ex-girlfriend." Chuck turned to look at Blair, who was clearly the center of the room's attention now. Businessmen and servers alike orbited around her as if she were the sun. "Blair doesn't belong to anyone. She doesn't answer to anyone. And she does whatever she pleases. Perhaps your little mishap was the best thing that ever happened to Waldorf."
"So, you two are…"
"Oh," Chuck grinned. "Let's just say that Blair and I are well-acquainted."
Nate took a step forward, his fists curling at his sides. But Serena stopped him, grasping his arm with a slight shake of her head. "Chuck, you're her friend now. You have to do something. This new Blair—"
"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Chuck cut in. "There is no new Blair. There's the Blair who was in your shadow for years. There is the Blair who's been throwing herself at you since we were little kids. She's always been there. She just needed a little—" Chuck pursed his lips "—push."
Across the room, a petite blonde stood in front of her disapproving brother as he took in her new look: the smoky make up around her blue eyes, the yellow strapless dress that pushed up the bit of cleavage that Jenny Humphrey never knew she had. Dan, who was supposed to be Serena's escort before she had abandoned him in pursuit of her excommunicated best friend, shrugged his coat from his shoulders to cover her up, but Jenny pushed it away, rolling her eyes.
"This isn't you, Jenny," Dan huffed. "You look like the girls we used to laugh about—"
"No," Jenny corrected. "Those were the girls you and Dad used to laugh about. This is who I've always wanted to be."
"Come on, Jenny. You look like a miniature version of Blair Waldorf, for crying out loud."
"And is that so bad?" A cool voice interrupted their conversation, a flash of scarlet appearing beside them as Blair herself hung beside Jenny, challenging Dan with dark eyes. "Because the tortured artist spiel is so original? And when was the last time a Humphrey original was put up for sale?" Dan parted his lips, his neck beating red. Blair held up a finger, a snarky smile on her face. "Oh, that's right—never."
"Look, this is between Jenny and I, Blair. I don't—"
"No. You see, Jenny is my friend." The blonde flushed as Blair spoke, biting her lip. "She's at her full potential. And she doesn't need your holier than thou act shoving her back into the land of the lame."
"I'm not going to let her become one of you," Dan protested, shoving his hands in his pocket.
"That's rich," Blair smirked. "Coming from someone who's dating Serena van der Woodsen. How long do you think it'll take this time? For her eyes to wander, for her to find some Italian tourist or suave intern that'll satiate her short attention span? How long will it take for you to lose all of this because S gets bored?"
"What—"
"You don't know my world as well as you think you do, Dan," Blair said, her tone cutting and sharp. "Permanence is never a promise here, especially not when it comes to love. So watch your step. The fall is long and rarely worth the crash." Dan swallowed as Blair backed away, casting Jenny a small smile. "Call me later, J."
As Blair sauntered off, Jenny's withering glare turned on Dan. "How could you embarrass me like that? Don't you know who she is? What all of this means to me?"
"Jenny…"
"You're such a hypocrite, Dan. You want to brood and whine about how terrible life is?" Jenny spat. "Do it on your own. You don't want me to be happy. Misery just loves company." Jenny shoved through the crowd, her cheeks flaming as she pulled her phone from her clutch. She dialed Damien's number, finding a quiet corner of the room to wallow in. She heard a click and held her breath, waiting for him to greet her, but—
Hey, you've reached Damien, and I'm too lazy to talk to you right now. Leave a message if you want.
Jenny shook her head and dialed him again with shaking fingers, forcing herself to forget Diana, who had flounced around their cafeteria table on the last day before break, stopping right between Jenny and Damien. Jenny had glanced up, startled by her appearance, but Diana's eyes were trained on Damien.
"Looks like it's just you and I this weekend," Diana had said, with that signature flip of her hair.
Jenny dropped her phone into her purse when she got Damien's voicemail again. And like a twisted Cinderella, she ran from the ball.
:::
November 21st, 2007: Bass Industries
After the benefit, Chuck found himself at his father's office, and present were the unshakeable nerves that plagued him whenever he was about to confront Bart Bass. He'd fled early, leaving Blair to her grand moment, pleased that he'd given her the entrance she'd wanted. It was strange, this feeling. Whatever pleased her, satisfied him as well. Her grin matched his own when he'd left a bouquet of bright peonies in her foyer before the benefit. He wasn't sure he liked this sudden dependency, this fluttering that had commenced in the pit of his stomach.
Maybe it was wise to have left early after all.
It was late, but Bass Industries was still in full swing, tireless interns shuffling floor plans on wide desks, assistants crowding the coffee machines and jetting in and out of various offices. Chuck knowingly winked at Bart's new secretary, reaching over to toy with a strand of her hair, barely skimming the sleeve her dress until she allowed him in unannounced. Chuck walked in on his pensive father, who, as always, appeared empiric as he sat at his desk, typing something into his computer.
"Father," Chuck coughed, such formality foreign on his tongue after his months of boozing at Briar and being wasted in Cancun on the summer before. His father looked up sharply, icy blue eyes nearly cutting Chuck down where he stood.
"Chuck," Bart said, clearing his throat. "I wasn't expecting you home tonight."
"Your secretary let me in," Chuck leered, a weak attempt at bonding with his father. Bart remained unmoved. "I came to see if you had work that needed to be done, or—"
"Cut to the chase, Chuck," Bart said. "What is it that you want? Money for booze? Is there some strip club that won't let you in?"
"Look, I've been trying—"
"Trying?" Bart's laughter was cruel as he pushed up from his seat. "I can see how hard you've tried every time I get a call from Briar complaining about your insolent behavior. Still a problem from miles away."
"Things are different now," Chuck rasped. His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it, hated the way he turned into a young boy dragging at his father's feet when he tried to plead his case. "I have…" Blair. He didn't say her name, but he thought of her all the same.
His father stepped away from his desk, a familiar spark of anger lighting his eyes. Chuck wondered if being heartless was hereditary.
"Pull another stunt, and you'll be out on the streets," Bart said, slamming his fist against his desk. "Do you think you're anything more than an obligation? Do you think you're something to be proud of?" Words battered like fists in a game Chuck knew all too well. Chuck's nostril's flared, his father's face reflecting his own as he remembered himself—six years old, dreams uncrushed.
"Dad, look! I learned a new note on the piano. I can play a whole song now."
"Do you think real men play that nonsense? Do you think you'll be good for anything with a skill like that?"
"Dad—"
"Sometimes I wonder if you really are my son."
Chuck stared into the eyes of a man who stepped on lives and tainted hope until its definition was lost. His eyes blazed when he spat, "Fuck you."
And when Chuck's back hit the wall, when Bart's fist came down like a reminder, a snap broke through the room and blood rushed to skin, announcing to the world that love did not live there.
:::
November 22nd, 2007: The Palace, Room 1812
Chuck numbed it down. He took a sip of his drink for every drop of rain that fell outside, his gaze unfocused on the ceiling above him. He cursed his high tolerance, cursed being able to drink a brewery without feeling an ounce of tipsiness. His cheek was sore, his limo forgotten as he had ambled home, far away from the empire that had built a family of stone. He held his phone in his hands, poised over Blair's name in his contacts. He tapped out letters, stared at the product. I need you.
He erased, he repeated, but he did not send it.
It was then that he heard a knock on his door. He yelled for the intruder to go away, downing the rest of his glass, wincing against the sting of alcohol. But the knocks came again, more insistent this time. Chuck stumbled over to pull open the door, fury written all over his face. And then the world shifted. Blair stood before him, still dressed in her gown from the benefit. Her chest heaved, her body wet from the rain, her eyes bright and waiting as they stared at each other.
"You're here," Chuck said, eyeing her hair, curly and wet around her face.
Blair nodded, shutting the door behind her, blindly turning the lock. "I'm here."
And then she was in his arms. Chuck thrust her chin up, bowing her against him—an anchor or a snare, she didn't know. She closed her eyes, unable to meet his stare. If she looked for too long, she might just break. But maybe that was what he wanted.
"I'm broken," was all he said as his shaking hand pushed the strap of her dress off her shoulder. Blair blinked up through wet lashes, her hands sliding down his face.
"I'll fix you," Blair finally whispered. His fingers dug into the soft skin at the nape of her neck, dragging patterns across the tiny hairs there.
And then, "I'm alone."
A beat. A breath. "Not anymore."
It was then that they fell to the floor, her hands pulling at his collar, his cupping her ass, hitching her to him. He breathed her in for a moment, emotion washing over him. He wouldn't recognize it, of course. He was Chuck Bass, and the things that brought the hearts of others to a short stop flew right by the bricks that guarded his. But unbeknownst to him, thiswas the moment he held his breath until Blair drew one of her own. It was the moment he clung to her like a captive to a cliff. It was the moment he began to need Blair Waldorf—something he had so skillfully dodged for the entirety of his life.
But he couldn't avoid something he'd never felt before. He wouldn't recognize it if it hit him square in the face.
"Chuck," Blair whispered as he stripped her down, her dress ripped and tangled up in the corner of the room. In a haze, he pulled her plain black lingerie from her skin, sliding it down her legs. His cheek still burned red from Bart's punch, and he was grateful for the darkness. Her fingers were frantic as she sought the zipper of his pants, shoved the suit jacket from his shoulders. And then they were bare to each other, her breasts flushed, the hair on his chest brushing her skin. Blair shivered, and he wrapped himself around her, his erection prodding her thigh.
"You feel like…" Chuck's eyes rolled back as her smooth thigh brushed his hip, as her hands tentatively explored his back, trying to pull him closer. "Like nothing else." Blair writhed underneath him, one hand dropping down to grasp him, rubbing him against her slick folds. Chuck growled then, grabbing hold of her hair in a tight fist to yank her head back. "But when I take you, it will be because of you and me. I will not fuck you to make you forget about them." Blair winced at the word, pushed him onto his back to retaliate his crassness. She was on her knees beside him, legs spread, curls wild around her face. Chuck groaned as she pouted, and he reached out to slip two fingers into her. Blair moaned, nearly sitting on his hand as his fingers fucked her with abandon.
She smiled, an open-mouthed pant escaping her as her hips rolled again and again, her hands finding his chest to steady herself. Her tiny hand slipped down, down to where he throbbed for her, to where he was hard against his stomach. She hesitated before taking him in her small fist, stroking at her leisure just to torture him.
"Blair," Chuck growled. "Faster."
Blair smiled, bending over to take his fingers deeper inside of her. "No."
"Blair," Chuck repeated in warning, stilling his fingers much to Blair's dismay. He began to slip away from her, and she mewled, sinking down. "Now." Of course, she obeyed him, her hand meeting the thrust of his hips. She bent to kiss his chest, brazenly tugging his skin between her teeth. Chuck groaned at the sensation, at the sight of her tight little ass in the air. Whimpers that couldn't possibly be his own filled the room.
And then it was a race to the finish, as they fought to please each other. His hand brushed the underside of her ass as his fingers sank into her core, slipping from the wetness that gushed from her. Blair met his thrusts with strokes of her own, swiping a finger over the head of him as her kisses descended to his waist.
"Fuck."
"Yes, yes."
"That's right, Blair. Just like that."
The world ended for a moment. Her nails scratched, a raw shout broke from his lips. He pulled her down, holding her as she shuddered, digging his face into her hair as his seed spilled over her hand and onto his stomach. She whimpered, he shook, and together they fell into the night.
Together, they pushed the rest of the world away.
:::
Blair awoke hours later in an unfamiliar bed, draped in a tangle of towels, robes, and bed sheets. Her hair was still slightly damp, falling in loose waves around her face. She rubbed her eyes, shifting back when she realized that an arm was draped across her waist, fingers skimming the skin of her bare stomach. Oh. She blinked as Chuck dug his face into her hair, murmuring in his sleep. She let out a breath before turning in his arms until she could see him, his features twisted into an adorably sleepy frown as he peered back at her.
"Waldorf," Chuck huffed, his voice groggy. He pulled her up against him, tucking his face into her chest as Blair let out a breathless giggle. She tentatively reached out to pull a hand through his messy hair.
"Bass," Blair whispered. She meant it to be cocky and challenging. But her voice came out as a soft murmur, as if they were two lovers whispering sweet nothings to each other. Blair shook her head as Chuck trailed kisses across her shoulder. But that wasn't them.
"Jesus," Chuck finally murmured, rubbing his eyes. He pulled Blair into the crook of his arm as he reached for the phone on his nightstand. "What time is it?" She watched as he scrolled through text messages, her eyes trailing to the pensive look on his face. Blair gasped when she noticed the purple bruise blossoming just under his eye. It was a Monet of violets and indigos, a portrait of the perfect storm marring his skin. She reached up, her fingers hovering just above the bruise as Chuck tensed beneath her, casting a warning glance.
"Your face."
"Don't, Blair."
"But—"
"Blair."
"Fine," Blair hissed, sitting up. Chuck rolled his eyes as she shifted to the far end of the bed, wrapping the sheets around herself, draping them over her shoulders. She paused for a moment, glancing around the room before narrowing her eyes at him. "How many girls have you had here?"
Chuck smirked, glancing back at his phone. "You want me to count?" Blair parted her lips, blood rushing to her cheeks as a wave of jealousy hit her. But Chuck cut her off just in time. "Only one that mattered."
Blair relaxed, biting her lip. "Oh."
"Yeah, Irina was really some—" Before he could finish his taunting, his face was hit by a thick white pillow, smothering his words. He laughed, grasping Blair's waist as she hovered over him, her plush weapon still in hand.
"You're terrible," Blair pouted. "And I hate you." Chuck laughed, smoothing out her crinkled features with his fingertips before capturing her wrists. He tugged her down to him, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her chin, to one rosy cheek. Blair stared down at him. "What are you doing?"
"You don't hate me, Waldorf," was all he said, releasing her arms and letting her slump down onto the bed beside him. "At least," he smirked, reaching out to squeeze her thigh. "You didn't earlier."
"You just enjoy torturing me," Blair sighed. Her hair fanned out across his pillow, the sheets tangling across her body in the most delicious way Chuck had ever seen. She stared up at the ceiling, eyelashes batting as she tugged her lip between her teeth. "It's Thanksgiving today."
Chuck blinked, unmoved. "Fantastic," he deadpanned. "I can barely contain my excitement."
"Chuck." Blair ran her fingers through her hair. "It's my favorite holiday. Before Daddy decided to hightail it out of Manhattan and gallivant all over Southern France with his little—" Blair grimaced "—boy-toy, we used to set the table with all of these fabulous gourmet dishes and champagne. And then Daddy and I would make the pumpkin pie."
At this, Chuck raised his eyebrows. "You made pie."
Blair rolled her eyes at him. "I can be domestic."
Chuck laughed, reaching under the sheets and placing a warm hand on her stomach. "Now, I'd love to see that." Blair smiled softly, surprisingly comforted by his touch. If they were any other pair, they'd have a chance at some version of normality. But instead, a bruise tainted his skin, her dress laid tattered and ripped on the floor, and their own words taunted them like a silent mantra.
I won't love you.
I won't love anyone.
They would never be normal.
"I can't go back to that freak show," Blair spat. "I can't do it. Not this year." Blair felt a lump in her throat when she thought of her mother being relieved at her absence, at exchanging false niceties with the van der Woodsens. Although she loved Eric, she couldn't bear the thought of it. She looked at Chuck, who was regarding her curiously. "Whatever. Retail therapy has always been my forte. I'll go to Bendels or Barneys…or...I'm sure that you have other things to attend to." Instead of answering her, Chuck just nodded and turned away, reaching for the suite's phone. Blair's heart sank, her chin dropping at his rejection. She gathered the bit of pride she could muster up and slowly slid off the bed.
"Waldorf," Chuck said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her back. "Sit." Blair frowned, narrowing her eyes as he dropped her arm and spoke into the phone. "Yes, Philippe. Have the kitchen send up its entire holiday menu." Blair's eyes widened as he went on. "As for the apple pie...just give us the ingredients."
:::
"I didn't sign up for this."
"Bass, you have to help me." Blair pouted, bouncing on his lap as she filled the piecrust with bits of the pumpkin mixture the kitchen staff had provided. Chuck held her waist, stilling her movements as they sat at his bar.
"I don't have to do anything, Waldorf," Chuck argued. "For me, Thanksgiving is a spectator's sport."
"You don't get to eat the turkey until you help me with the pie," Blair bargained. Chuck rolled his eyes, pinching her side as she squealed, sending a bit of pumpkin onto the counter, splattering it all over her face. "You are going to pay for that."
Chuck smirked. "Yeah? I'm quite fond of your punishments."
"I give up," Blair huffed, pulling away from Chuck. "You're smarmy and incorrigible, and I'll never be caught dead trying to make a meal for you again." Chuck laughed at her pout, swiping a bit of the pumpkin from the bowl in front of him on one finger. He beckoned her over, tilting her chin up with his other hand, sliding his finger into her mouth. He groaned when her lips wrapped around his finger, sucking the sweetness from his skin. His finger went further and further, and she let out a surprised cough when it reached the back of her throat. Her eyes rolled back as his finger thrusted in and out, his eyes intent on her lips, his other hand holding her face up. Finally, he pulled away, smirking as a stunned Blair touched her own lips.
"You're trying to ruin me," Blair accused, taking a spoonful of stuffing.
"I've already ruined you," Chuck said. She rolled her eyes, nudging his arm, but the playfulness was gone from his face, and his tone was dead. His eyes darkened before they cleared, and he grinned at her, flicking a bit of cranberry sauce onto her nose. Blair startled, the bitch in her arising as she wiped the red mush from her skin. She lifted a pot of gravy and took a step toward Chuck.
"You're going to regret that, Bass."
:::
November 22nd, 2007: The Tribeca Grand Hotel, Church Bar
Three hours after the undignified food fight ensued, and Chuck had happily washed the cranberries from a furious Blair's hair, Blair found herself on the other end of Manhattan, stepping into the Tribeca's cool lobby in a mint dress she'd had Dorota send over. She clutched Chuck's jacket around her shoulders as she stepped into the bar, immediately spotting the leggy blonde at one of the stools. Blair braced herself before sitting down.
"Thank you…for meeting me," Serena murmured, shooting Blair a hesitant smile. It was not returned.
"Why aren't you with Lily and Eric?" Blair asked, her eyes dead of emotion. Before Serena could answer, Blair ordered a gin and tonic from the bar, setting a crisp twenty on the counter.
"We had an early dinner," Serena explained, ordering a cocktail for herself. "I told them how important it was for me to see you before you went back."
"Right." Blair smirked, shaking her head. "I suppose that's what a guilty conscience will do to you."
"B…" Serena reached out to touch Blair's arm, but Blair pulled away just in time.
"Don't," Blair spat, taking her drink from the passing bartender. She sipped it carefully, taking a gulp of liquid courage before glancing up at Serena. "Only my friends get to call me that." Serena winced at being officially demoted in Blair's life. She looked down at her lap, tugging on a lock of blonde hair.
"So, we're not friends," Serena said, her voice smaller than Blair had ever heard before. Blair shook her head, momentarily distracted by the phone chiming in her purse. She smiled down at the screen as texts came filtering in.
OMG. I need your royal advisement, your highness. ;) When will you be back at Briar? Text me! – D
Hey, B. So sorry about my dork brother. See you back at school? – J
So, Ethan Merrick just called me. Ethan. Merrick. Any idea who gave him my number? You're not as slick as you think you are, B. – Eric
Blair let out a sharp laugh, feeling a pang in her chest for the first time since she'd left the Upper East Side.
She missed Briar. She actually missed Briar. She craved her center table, sitting at the head with Chuck as they argued with each other whilst shamelessly flirting. She wanted Jenny nodding at her every word, Diana snorting with laughter as she snuck vodka into their morning orange juice and Eric shook his head at them all. Blair looked up at Serena in wonderment, her lips cracking into a smile. "Serena, I don't live here anymore."
The blonde frowned. "What?"
"I always thought…that I had everything here. I always thought you were trying to take it away from me," Blair murmured. "But this is untouchable. Briar is mine."
"So is the Upper East Side," Serena reasoned. "You're the Queen B…"
"No," Blair said, getting up from her seat. "No. Maybe in the future, when we're older and it's easier to be your friend, when high school isn't a battlefield and my mother doesn't wish that she'd had a daughter like you instead. Maybe then we can go back to being S and B." Blair let out a breath. "But right now…I'm done here. I'm going home."
"Alone?" Serena swallowed, her voice confused and desperate. "But Eleanor isn't around and—"
"No," Blair cut in, looking for the limo parked outside, where her suitcases were loaded into the trunk and Chuck Bass teasingly leered at her though the open window of his backseat. Where "I'm going home."
Author's Note: Hi guys! *Pokes out from behind the rock I'm currently hiding behind* I am super nervous about putting this out there because it's my longest chapter yet, and I've been working on this part of the plot for days, hoping to figure out exactly what I wanted from this chapter. So...there it goes. Thank you so much for your amazing reviews and support. There is no way I'd be motivated to get to that kind of word count without you guys. You're all just so awesome. And as always, let me know what you think.