A/N: Hey all! So... my new obsession is Gossip Girl. No, seriously, this last week I've watched the whole first season. And I had to write this three-part fic because I was so disappointed and disgusted with the ending of Pret-A-Poor-J (from the French: prêt-à-porter, which means "ready to wear." I totally had to look this up :) I love it when I get GG titles, but this one went over my head! and I take French! haha!) So, yes this is a 3 parter, basically a redo of a few ending scenes from 2x08: Blair and Chuck on the roof, Chuck and Dan in the stairwell, and Blair and Chuck in Blair's bedroom. A lot of dialog is taken from the show, but don't worry, I do improvise :) Actually, the differences will most likely get broader as the chapters are added. So, yes this first chapter does end like the scene in the show, but I did add a little extra: a lot of the characters feelings and motives behind words and actions are more revealed. And I thought it would be interesting for C and B to talk about Vanessa...spice it up a bit. :) I hope you enjoy! (know that I write this around classes and homework and that college is hard! so it might be a few days till chapter two is up) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or her characters.

Chapter One: Rooftop Redo

We'd be so less fragile
If we're made from metal
And our hearts from iron
And our minds from steel
And if we built an armor
For our tender bodies
Could we love each other
Would we stop to feel

--"Three Wishes" by The Pierces

Blair had sort of been only halfway kidding when she'd told Serena that she'd jump off the roof if Chuck didn't say those three words back to her.

When she'd asked him to say them at the White Party, after spending the summer without him in Tuscany, after she'd come back and discovered he was ready to chase her again, and he hadn't been able to get farther than "I…"—when that had happened, Blair had felt bad enough. She'd wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there till graduation. But if he didn't say them now, after she said them first…if his reply was a smirk, or a laugh, or an "I know," or nothing at all… it would be intolerable. Blair had wanted to die after the White Party. If the second situation happened—

It was best not to think of it, really.

And now here she was, standing on a rooftop—albeit, one in Brooklyn, which Chuck had already scathingly pointed out—heart-a-racing, sweaty-palmed, and dry-mouthed. It sounded more like a disease than love.

"Don't you have something you want to say to me?" Chuck asked, his eyes fixed on her face.

"Yes," she replied quickly, her smile a little forced.

She wasn't sure if it was just wishful thinking, but he sounded eager—and yet slightly bored at the same time, in a way that was pure Chuck, as if he couldn't care less why she'd asked him to meet her on top of Dan Humphrey's dad's art gallery in Brooklyn of all places.

Why had she picked the roof of Dan Humphrey's dad's art gallery in Brooklyn of all places? It was hardly that romantic. And why had she decided to cave to Chuck's rules?

Blair tried to make her gulp inconspicuous. Oh God. Those butterflies were making her nauseous. Yes, she had butterflies. And she couldn't help but remember another night, a different night on a rooftop balcony, and another set of butterflies. He had been right: she did feel surprised and ashamed. Ashamed in that she was so scared about those butterflies and what they meant, and how to tell him. And surprised…well, Blair was still slightly dizzy over the whole thing. How had it happened so fast? One minute she hated him, the next they were in bed, then sneaking around, then each denying the other, then playing cat and mouse…how had it progressed to the emotion poets wrote about ad nauseam?

She remembered Dan's surprise when he'd read the answer on her face.

"Wow. Someone loves Chuck Bass."

Just thinking the words made her heart beat faster.

Oh God, and now those butterflies were fluttering around her stomach so fast she felt like she was on a roller coaster. Or maybe it was from the martini she'd downed before leaving the house…

Whatever the cause, Blair was nervous. More nervous than she'd ever been in her life. More nervous than when she'd waited for Nate in her underwear (only to learn he'd cheated on her with Serena). More nervous than when she'd waited for Chuck in her underwear (only to learn he wanted more than just sex). More nervous than—

Oh, just say it, Blair!

She swallowed and opened her mouth.

"I…"

The words caught in her throat. She needed a drink. Ugh, and stupid Dan Humphrey had never brought her one. He'd hung around the café while she was going out of her mind with nerves and then stopped her in the hallway on her way up—with no drink in hand! If he was going to give her bad advice—contrary to everything else he'd said so far—he could have at least had the decency to ply her with liquor first. Her nerves were already shot to hell.

Dan's "advice" floated back to her, and the two remaining words that belonged to Chuck were no longer just stuck, but permanently lodged in her throat.

"Make sure he's done playing games," Dan had said.

Oh God. Was he?

She had been ready to play, before, when she'd thought it was a game: prêt-à-porter; ready to wear him down, that is. And when that hadn't exactly been the best strategy, she'd changed tactics. And in changing tactics, she didn't want it to be a game anymore. She was ready to admit it, and she wanted it to be real—it had to be real.

It had all seemed so simple before! Take a risk. Risk your pride. Risk it all. And maybe (hopefully) gain everything. Everything she wanted. All she'd ever wanted.

Blair Waldorf had never been a huge risk-taker. Plan it out. Organize. Details. Plan the party, order the flowers, napkins, cutlery, candles, food, entertainment, decorations, booze. Plan your outfit. Shave it, wax it, diet, suck it in, curl it, accessorize it, powder it, hold still, youlookbeautiful. You look perfect. Get the best of everything.

Chuck was the best of everything…

But she'd been willing! So when she'd decided to risk it all, Blair hadn't counted on a last minute "be careful!" from Cabbage Patch. How could she be careful and risk it all at the same time?

Bad advice? He was the worst confidant in the world! What had she been thinking? Dan Humphrey?!

"This is so silly," she finally managed. "What does it matter who says it first? Why don't we just say it together?"

Chuck's eyes jerked up from her lips and focused on her eyes. "Because that wasn't the deal."

Blair felt her heart shudder. Dan's words were echoing so loudly in her ears she could barely focus.

"Why does everything have to be a deal?" she asked softly. Why couldn't this be real? Be…honest. She felt slightly strange thinking the word. But, undeniably, it fit.

Chuck leaned against the railing. "Because we made it one."

"We?" Blair's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure? Because from what I remember, you were the one who decided to make it a deal." She paused to gauge his reaction, though half the time that was an impossible feat anyway. "Maybe you forgot. We were on my bed. You were on top. And the rules were that I'd only get you if I said—"

"Yes," Chuck broke in, his hard voice inconsistent with his languid posture. "But you were the one who offered yourself in the first place, if I took care of Vanessa." He smirked. "And how could I turn an offer like that down?"

"You never even won that bet," Blair snapped angrily. "And you didn't even accept my offer. You just made it your own game—"

"I merely raised the stakes, Waldorf. It's not my fault if you're incapable of playing by the rules." He eyes glowed with some primal satisfaction. "And if memory serves, your exact words were 'I lost. You won.'"

"You did not win," Blair fumed. "You just moped around your stupid house-warming party slobbering all over Vanessa. I was the one who got rid of her—"

"Because you wanted me," he broke in, pushing away from the roof railing. His hand grasped her arm suddenly, just above the elbow. "Admit it. And you want me now, too. Why else would you be doing the chasing?"

Blair met his penetrating gaze and refused to open her mouth with an answer. She would never admit that. Out loud. Without knowing how they really stood with each other. But she was afraid he could read her like a book.

"Vanessa may have been humiliated," she continued, as if he hadn't interrupted, "but you never seduced her."

Chuck didn't blink. "Are you sure of that?" he asked in a deathly quiet whisper. "I did keep you waiting. Where do you think I was for so long?"

Blair felt the furious blush bloom over her skin, angry and red. She could almost see red. But she didn't break her stare from his. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to her.

Him and Vanessa?! The thought left a vile taste in her mouth. He expected her to believe that he'd seduced Vanessa after she'd told him he'd won? After he'd been chasing her since the first time they'd fucked in the back of his limo and she finally told him she might possibly be interested? He expected her to believe he'd seduced Vanessa while she was waiting for him upstairs?! He expected her to believe that?!

She didn't believe him. She couldn't believe him without throwing him off the roof.

The city below them glowed and honked and moved as if nothing was going on, as if one of the most important conversations of her life wasn't happening right now. What did New York care for Blair Waldorf?

What did anyone care?

…what did he care?

This night was so not going according to plan.

Blair gritted her teeth and tried to play numb, as if tears weren't threatening to well up in her eyes, as if the anger she felt wasn't making her tremble. As if her heart wasn't breaking.

"I always thought you were low, Bass, but not that low," she finally managed. She wasn't even sure if she was referring to his supposed sleeping with Vanessa or the fact that he'd even claimed to in the first place. "A year ago she wouldn't have been worthy enough to lick your squash shoes." She tilted her chin up, wanting to appear cool and condescending, not knowing that he could read the anger in the pouty sneer of her red lips. "I mean, Vanessa? A little nobody from Brooklyn? Dan Humphrey's scraggily activist friend?"

"You sound like a jealous girlfriend," Chuck said.

Blair froze, remembering the night of her seventeenth birthday. The night she'd said something similar to him…and he'd ended up having her for the second time. She could tell he was remembering that night, too, from the hot, dark look in his eyes. Blair didn't trust herself to say anything. If she opened her mouth it would just go from bad to worse.

But apparently Chuck could manage to do that all on his own.

"Vanessa's not as bad as you think."

Blair took an involuntary step back. "What?"

Chuck shrugged, an uncharacteristic gesture that spoke volumes about how uncharacteristically he was trying to put uncharacteristic emotions into words.

"She…" he trailed off, frustrated. "At least she admits when she's wrong."

Blair felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach (not that she ever had been… although Serena had bruised her up pretty badly in a field hockey game once…). She felt like she'd been walking around in the dark, eyes adjusted and seeing perfectly well, and someone had flipped a switch and blinded her with light. She couldn't believe it.

"Are you kidding me?" She let out a strangled laugh. How could she have been so stupid?! But it all made sense now: his rushing over to that Brooklyn mouse the moment she entered his house—even though he'd been talking to Blair; the hand holding Blair had spied on; the strange look in his eye when he'd entered her bedroom; hell, even the fact that he'd invited Vanessa to his parents' housewarming at all should have tipped her off.

Fucking She-Cabbage Patch.

"My God, you really slept with her." She didn't want it to be true.

Ugh, and he had kept her waiting while he did it! What a Basstard!

"I thought you wanted me too," he replied, mask in place, stoic as all get out. As fucking always.

"Of course I didn't!" she cried, angrily. "I never did! I don't! I—"

"You don't?" he interrupted quickly. His eyes bored into hers. Blair choked down a sob, but a tear escaped nonetheless.

That tear held the world. Their words paused as she felt it slide down her face. Something in Chuck seemed to deflate as he watched it travel down her cheek.

He squeezed her arm gently. "I didn't sleep with Vanessa," he admitted softly. Then he sighed, dropping her arm and pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. "Blair, what's going on? I thought you had something to say to me." His nostrils flared and his eyes took on an intense look. "Say it."

But Blair wasn't about to follow his orders. Who did he think he was? And what did he mean by leading her on like that? "I didn't sleep with Vanessa" her ass. Trying to make her jealous? Well it fucking worked, but she wasn't about to admit it. And why the hell was he telling her to "say it"? He couldn't even say it himself, not even when he asked her to.

"Why do I have to be the one to go first?" she asked angrily.

She was always first.

She kissed him first.

She broke up their whatever-thing first.

(…he was her first…)

"I was the one who waited on the helipad for you. I went to Tuscany alone!"

"That's ancient history."

"Ancient history?!" she cried. "It just happened! The summer hasn't died yet, Chuck."

"I already apologized for that," he bit out. "I told you that letting you fly off alone was a mistake."

Their eyes clashed. They both remembered. They remembered the vulnerability of that moment. The fragile, unstable ground they'd been on when Chuck had voiced his honest apology for leaving her waiting.

He just hadn't understood that there was no need to be scared. She already saw him. She knew him. Just like he knew her. They were the same. They were the same from her signature headband to his signature scarf. From those effing contagious butterflies.

Sometimes, though, they were both too stubborn to admit it.

"I was the one who asked you to say it first."

"At the white party?" Chuck asked, his voice rising, his temper getting the best of him. "When you were on your way out with the count?"

She had asked him to give her a reason to stay. Apparently neither of them wanting her to leave hadn't been enough.

"Did you really think I was going to say it then?"

"Yes!" she cried. She might as well confess. God knew she meant it. "And when you didn't I wanted to die."

"Don't tell me you brought me all the way to Brooklyn for this. I thought you were ready to tell me how you felt." Chuck scowled, his eyes dark with anger, his body tense with disappointment. "Obviously it was just another one of your games."

"One of my games?" Blair was furious. This was one of his games! And normally, she liked playing with him. She admitted it, he was fun to play with—they really were the same, just like he'd always said. It had been fun, especially when he chased her no matter how many times she said no. A girl loves being wanted, being the object of someone's affection, even if that someone is Chuck Bass…or perhaps especially if that someone is Chuck Bass… All those seductive looks and leering smirks and knowing eyes… When he'd agreed to go after Vanessa just because she'd asked him to, Blair had felt powerful. In control. But when he'd given her that sweet, lover-like kiss on her jaw line, between her cheek and her neck… God knew her heart had softened—so much so as to find her the very next night in lingerie, waiting for him in her room.

This was his game. Maybe she had encouraged it by saying no, or by offering herself if he took care of Vanessa, but he was the one who'd refused to settle and raised the stakes. This was his game now. And if she said it, he won. And if he won, she'd just be another girl to him. Another faceless, hot body with no name, no personality, no memory. And Blair didn't want to be that with Chuck. She wanted him to want her. She wanted them to be together.

She hadn't been playing a game when she'd asked him at the white party. She hadn't been trying to manipulate him or pull strings from the sidelines. She had wanted it to be real.

She had thought this time it would be real. He'd asked this time. But it was just a game to Chuck, too.

"You're the one who started this!" she finally managed

"And you're the one who's finished it." Chuck turned away, and Blair couldn't really blame him. She couldn't look at him, so it was fitting that he couldn't look at her.

Why was she still standing there? Don't be pathetic, she told herself. Just leave.

So she did.

Alone.