Chapter 2. The Glass Wall

A/N: Aww, thanks for reviewing so kindly!

You jerks, assuming I'd make a second chapter! ::winks:: Anyway, I guess I could give it a shot.

Yes, there will be some Chuck chasing after Blair. In the next chapter. I mean, he has been totally dumping on her, and his sadness is no excuse.

As a side note, I was on Gossip Girl (which is, by the way, a great website, gives you tons of spoilers, they just posted a few for Gone With The Will 2.15) and I found the most gorgeous picture of Ed Westwick! Here is the link: gossipgirlinsider . com /gallery/ed-westwick-so-handsome/ (Sorry, I had to space it, otherwise FanFiction . net does its weird thing about hyperlinks)

It is definitely worth checking out. My absolute favorite picture of Ed.

So anyway, on to the chapter!

As tailnoting again (seriously, they should hand out tickets for tailnoting, then I'll stop): I was listening to Beyonce's Ave Maria (beautiful, beautiful) when I wrote this, so it is slightly more upbeat. Lovely for C/B.

Disclaimer: All The CW's/Cecily Von Zieglesar's,

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The hotel clerk looked her over disdainfully. "Are you reserved at this hotel, ma'am?"

"No," Blair snapped. "I'm Blair Waldorf, and I would like to see Charles Bass--"

"Yes, and I'm the King of England, and I would like to see Napoleon."

"Reality check, the kings of England are long gone, Napoleon is dead, and I am Blair Waldorf freezing my ass off! Now get me to him now!"

"Fine, I'll call him and ask if he needs to see you--"

"That won't be necessary," Blair said hastily, pressing a random button on the phone behind the counter. "He knows who I am, I've been here many times before! My whole grade has had parties at this hotel! Don't you remember me?"

"I'm new here," he said coldly.

Blair shook her head and reached deep into her pocket, pulling out an indiscriminate number of dollar bills. "Whoops, look at that. Must have dropped them. How kind of you to return them to me. Why don't you keep them as a reward," she said, albeit sarcastically, in one breath.

The clerk raised an eyebrow and pulled the money towards him. "You have raised my deepest sympathies, Miss Waldorf. Mr. Bass is in an underground floor, so when you're in the elevator, press the Lower Level button and the Emergency button at the same time, twice, and you will be at his private floor."

"Thank you so much," Blair said, sugar oozing from her every word, and departed for the elevator.

The elevator opened onto a hallway, considerably cleaner and more tastefully decorated than that of the night previous. It was obsessively cold in there, and Blair found her teeth chattering and her fingers freezing over as she hugged herself to keep warm.

She made her way through the labyrinth, left, right, left, right, until she turned and reached a heavy-looking set of polished oak doors. She knocked on them.

A maid opened the door. "Mr. Bass is not taking visitors at this time."

"No, I'm not a--" Blair had a flash of inspiration. "I'm his…." She trailed off delicately. "Entertainment."

Considering Blair's revealing, knee-length dress and apparent good looks (in time, the maid would be able to distinguish Wasp looks from whore looks, but alas, she was unable to then), the maid let her in. "Right this way." Blair followed her, slippers clacking in mute protest against the marble floors, to yet another highly polished door.

Chuck was sitting in one of his stupid Asian-silk bathrobes, the kind from really bad seventies James Bond movies, but of course, he made it look good. The room was filled with the corrosive stench of smoke, and indeed, Chuck was smoking a cigarette and frowning in concentration over a paper.

The maid closed the door behind them, and Chuck still did not look up, although his mouth tensed at the sides. He knew she was there.

"Hey," she said slowly.

He looked up at her then. His face was smooth now, the hollow cheeks reasserting themselves, the hair slicked-back and clean. The disturbing thing was the lack of Chuck Bass-ness to it; the impudent grin was gone, the look of amused interest. He looked bitter, gloomy. Like something was eating at him deep inside.

"What are you doing here?" he said abruptly, coldly. He took in her disheveled state. "Why are you here?" He was so disturbed he forgot to think of such details as how she got there. Or perhaps he didn't care. What Blair Waldorf wanted, Blair Waldorf got, no matter what it took for her to get it. A fact surely he, in tune with every last nuance of her personality, knew.

"I came to see the upholstery," she said facetiously. "Honestly, Chuck why do you think I'm here?"

Chuck blinked twice and looked at the perversely round vase in the corner of the room.

"I'm not going away."

More silence, awkward silence, painful silence cutting at her insides. Chuck stood up.

"Blair, I--"

Blair strode across the room and placed a hand on his arm, and tried to meet his eyes.

She didn't know how beautiful she looked; therein lay the beauty. Her hair was messy and her mascara was smudged and her dress torn, but it looked terribly romantic on her. The bottom curve of her sensitively-edged pink mouth was trembling with suppressed feeling.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

"You're not." Her hand hung on tighter. "You know I love you. Both of us selfish and spiteful, and we always had to tear each other to pieces with our words, our hateful words, and yet--the feeling was always there. And it seemed we were always ready for each other at the wrong times, always struggling at the wrong times--"

He looked far away, but he felt her hold on his heart. He swallowed.

"And now I'm ready for you. I--" Her voice took a hoarse turn. "I don't know about you. But whatever decision you make, let it be made not because of your fear of me getting hurt. I don't care. I will risk it."

But he needed to protect her. He had meant what he wrote that night. I'm sorry for everything. You deserve much better. Don't come looking for me.

He knew, somehow, that he was doing the wrong thing, but he really did love her, and he needed to protect her from himself.

"I, I--"

"You do care--don't you?"

"No."

"You're lying!"

"I am not." He turned to her a face smoothly devoid of emotion. "Now please, leave. You are making a fool of yourself."

The reality sank in and Blair's face changed from one of dumb disbelief to anger and sadness, as her face grew red. "You're lying," she repeated stupidly, but with less conviction. Then she noted the look on his face, like he was swallowing something more bitter than poison. "You are lying! I know it, I--"

He raised his eyebrows coolly. "Whether you choose to stay here and argue it is none of my affair."

"Chuck, please--"

Her face reached out in supplication. He threw her arm off and sat down.

Blair looked down, and her eyes grew moist and red. "Please," she said rustily.

"Missy," Chuck called, and the maid came. "Please escort Miss Waldorf outside and bring her home in a taxi."

"Yes, sir."

Blair stood frozen, rooted to the spot.

Missy pulled her gently away, and it was like dragging a zombie.