A/N: 42 reviews? 58 alerts?! 14 favs?! I've said it before and I'll probably say it again, but you guys are the best. Those reviews make my day.

I might be writing a one-shot to make up for the disappointment that was the extreme suckage of last night's episode. kills writers I mean, sheesh. That wasn't your best work, dudes. So yeah, I might come out with a one-shot. At…some point…

THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO ALL MY WONDERFUL REVIEWERS, ESPECIALLY SWEETSAS. Happy early birthday, chica. Us May peeps have to stick together. XD

I know, 'Geez, Zoe, cool it with the caps lock!'

Spotted: Queen B making an unorthodox entrance to the Lost Weekend. C looks like someone just ran over his dog because of it, but doesn't he know that a party isn't a party until someone crashes?

1x04: Bad News Blair

Blair Waldorf stared in disbelief at the scene playing out before her. Though, she couldn't really be surprised, she mused, bitterly. It's not like Serena hadn't taken everything from her last time she was here.

Pretending not to hear Serena calling her back, Blair stalked off the roof of the building where the photo shoot was taking place.

She furiously pulled out her cellphone, pressing speed dial 'three' and holding the phone up to her ear. She groaned in frustration as Nate's dumb answering machine picked up. She swore.

"Damn it, Archibald, answer your phone!"

And then she remembered.

The Lost Weekend.

She resisted the urge to hit her head against the nearest wall. The Lost Weekend was an imbecilic tradition begun by Carter Baizon two years ago, and Blair did not want to have to deal with a thousand guys at once.

She hailed a taxi, telling the driver to drive to the Palace Hotel.

But you do what you've gotta do to survive.

Or, if you're Chuck Bass, you do who you gotta do to—Ah, fuck it. Chuck knew that all the girls he screwed had nothing to do with survival.

As he took another drink of whatever miscellaneous alcohol had made it into his glass in the pass ten minutes—he had lost track after the first ten concoctions—he realized that Nate was leaving with Carter.

Let him leave, thought Chuck scornfully. He'll be coming back later with his tail between his legs.

Chuck grabbed at a passing girl, raising his eyebrows suggestively. The girl smiled back seductively, but unfortunately for her, Chuck's attention was captured by something else.

Correction: Some one else.

He pushed the girl away, not caring about her sniff of hurt, as Blair Waldorf, looking pissed, made a dramatic entrance. She scanned the room, not caring about the male eyes scanning her, before her eyes landed on Chuck. He adopted a 'Who, me?' expression as she stalked over to him.

She bit out the words as if they were painful. "Where. Is. My. Boyfriend?"

Chuck pretended to think about it. "Which—ohhh…blond hair, goes by the name of Nate?" He indicated with his hands. "About yay tall?"

She glared. "I think you know Nate's height."

He smirked. "Who said I was talking about his height?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're heinous."

"No—" he broke off. "Are you okay?"

"What?" She was caught off-guard by the question.

"Obviously not," he mused. "You showed up, mascara all over your face—" She self-consciously wiped her cheeks "—looking for Nate."

"Like you care." She spat at him.

"Yeah, I do." He responded, quietly. He cursed the return of slightly-more-sober Chuck.

She walked back out the door, and he followed silently. She sat on the curb in front of the hotel, not caring about her dress. He sat down beside her, not speaking.

She finally spoke. "My mom…gave Serena the modeling gig." Her voice was terrifyingly devoid of emotion. "My modeling gig. I wasn't 'fun' enough." She airquoted. "And Serena, as always…is perfect."

"Serena doesn't hold a candle to you, my dear." He said, adding an obvious undertone to his voice, putting an arm around her.

She laughed humorlessly, pushing him away a little. "Like hell."

He pulled her closer, into what might be called in some circles a "hug." He rested his cheek against her hair as he attempted to find something to say to her.

"Blair, you are a gorgeous woman. Why do you compete with Serena?"

She didn't answer.

Chuck pushed up her chin until she was looking at her. "Hey, you're even beautiful when you cry."

And then he kissed her.

And in that moment, it didn't matter that she had a boyfriend to consider and he had a best friend to consider. It didn't matter that she was bulimic, or he was a player. It didn't matter that she was supposed to be modeling and he was supposed to be at the Lost Weekend. It didn't matter that she was a bitch and he was a jackass. It didn't even matter that she was Blair Waldorf and he was Chuck Bass.

All that mattered was the fireworks going off in their heads.

They were interrupted by the song, "If You Wanna Be My Lover" by the Spice Girls as a picture of Serena flashed on the screen of Blair's cellphone. She answered almost instinctively, staring at a just as bemused Chuck.

"Hello?…Serena, I don't…What? Oh, and you weren't suspicious?…What about when I wasn't there? Or the door only had your name—" She stopped, listening to what Serena was saying, and laughed bitterly. "That makes it so okay, right?"

"Whatever, Serena." She said with a note of finality. She snapped the phone shut.

"So, do you want to talk about it…?" ventured Chuck.

"Yo, Chuck!" came a voice from behind him. When he waved to the guy and turned back around, Blair was already gone.

Chuck swore.

Damn, I'm good! You actually only had to wait one day…So, go me! Tomorrow is my birthday, so maybe no update tomorrow, but I'll do my best…