Disclaimer: I own none of this, otherwise it would have been stupid to read the books – I mean, they'd be mine.

Summary: More often than not, Blair and Chuck have conversations that Blair later edits out of the perfect movie that is her life, never to be remembered again. Starts from the Pilot and goes from there.

Pairings: Primarily Chuck\Blair, but all the cannon pairings – which, this show being awesome, would take about three pages and would look like the alphabet gone mad (Example: C\B, C\N, S\N, S\D,)

Spoilers: Up until The Thin Line… and nothing more! I know nothing and I like it.

A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys are seriously awesome and have my everlasting devotion. I was so nervous about this fic so it's wonderful that you like it. I hope you like this as well. And also to gleechild for being an awesome, attentive beta.

Enjoy!

Chapter 2

A Wild Brunch, Indeed.

Spotted: Why so mad, B?

Blair sat stiffly on her stool as if every little motion would turn the world on its axis and she would fall down to the horrible depths of hell. She always got a little religious when she was in distress.

Not that she was distressed right now. She was – what was the term? – getting past it.

The bartender handed her a martini and she gulped it down in one shot, practically shoving the olive down her throat. Despite years of experience, her stomach gave a churn of protest and her throat burned. It was wonderful. She could drink enough to make herself sick and then it wouldn't be her fault – everyone throws up after drinking into oblivion.

f-you, Dr. Sherman.

For a moment she thought she saw Serena slump across the lobby but she must have been dreaming. If Serena was down, as Blair hoped she was because her trashy boyfriend dumped her, she would have come straight to the bar, her second home.

She sipped on her second martini pensively. Maybe Serena really was trying to change. See if she cared. Blair promptly turned away from the entrance and stared at her second olive with determination. She commanded herself to be over it. Over Serena, over Nate sleeping with her, over her father and everything else that interfered with the perfection that was her life.

And that was how Chuck found her: staring at a little fruit or vegetable, or whatever the hell olives were, like she was daring it to break into song and dance. Not a good sign, that. Had he not thrived on mayhem, he would have cringed.

He slid onto the stool next to her in one smooth motion.

"Waiting for me?" he drawled.

Blair glanced at him, clearly annoyed.

Yeah, like that ever stopped him. He smirked, very aware of the fact that he was being insufferably smarmy, "You could have just gone up to my suite and waited for me on the bed…" he drawled. "Wearing that headband and nothing more." He flicked at the black rose in her hair with his index finger and was surprised when she didn't knee him. "In fact, I would have preferred that," he added.

She groaned, "Good God, that bed. And to think, I would have actually… on that bed."

"What's wrong with my bed?" he almost pouted. Almost.

"Are you kidding? It's probably infested."

He scoffed, "Nonsense. It's a very experienced, trustworthy bed."

"Please stop," she held a hand in front of her, her lip curled in disgust. "If you ever valued my sanity, you'll stop talking right now."

Chuck smiled with amusement, as he usually did when she tried to shoot him down. She was so cute when she thought she was being mean. And even cuter when she really was being mean. "My sophisticated jokes will appear much funnier after a few more drinks," he suggested, motioning to the bartender to bring her another martini—her usual drink of choice—while ordering a scotch for him self.

The bartender looked a little apprehensive as he poured Blair her drink, which was… odd. Then he backed away as if she was gonna snatch his hand along with the glass.

She was scaring people without trying— another very bad sign.

But Blair, oblivious to all this, merely sipped her martini gracefully. "I actually did come looking for you, believe it or not."

A smile spread across his face and he edged closer to her teasingly. "I knew you would eventually. A girl can only resist for so long."

Blair rolled her eyes and produced a small silver key from her purse. "I wanted to return this," she said, holding the key firmly in front of him. "The last thing I want is free access to that harem you reside in. I shudder at the mere thought."

Chuck shrugged, turning back to his drink. "You can keep it. I have dozens. You never know, you may need to escape someday."

The two hotel workers from the night before passed by and offered him a wink.

Blair shook her head, repulsed. "Yeah, but escape to what? An orgy?"

Chuck nodded back to them before flashing her his most devilish grin. "Hopefully."

"Seriously, Chuck? Them?" she shook her head. "They're hotel workers."

He frowned, "So?"

"They're probably, like, from Harlem," she clarified, as if it were obvious. "They could have… diseases."

Chuck's laughter was sharper and more dorky than he usually allowed it to be. "They're just hotel workers, Blair, not crack whores."

Blair just shrugged, undeterred. "Not anymore, anyway, because they ran away from their drug-dealing pimp who lives in Harlem. They probably have an eight-year old gang member kid to support."

This only served to worsen Chuck's embarrassing fit of laughter. "This… comes from the girl who once offered private tutoring to children from the projects, because, and I quote, 'everyone deserves a chance, and it's my honor to offer it'," he squeaked in a cruel imitation of her most righteous and preppy voice.

Ah yes, she remembered that— tutoring underprivileged snot-nosed Junior High kids. Ugh.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Whatever, it was extra-curricular for Yale. And I didn't sleep with them. I repeat, ew."

Chuck brought his lips to her ear and whispered, "Well, those two girls were certainly… experienced."

Judging by her slight flinch, Blair certainly registered the veiled insult on her own lack of experience. It was just like him to help her with something and then insult her for needing the help. And, needless to say, both were always done with that trademark obnoxious smirk. Self-satisfied prick.

As retaliation, she waved her hair casually, hitting him in the face. "Of course they are, since they're whores, as we previously discussed." She placed a finger on her chin in fake contemplation. "I feel like this conversation is going in circles."

But Chuck was not about to wisely pick his battles, as he should have. Instead his smirk widened, almost to the point of cruelty. "Serena's new boy-toy is from Brooklyn," he reminded her. "Is that better?"

Blair's playful grin was wiped from her face within milliseconds. She took a large sip from her martini and shrugged, "It's not, and he's not."

"He's not what?" he frowned.

"Her boy-toy," a vengeful smile spread across her face and she drawled. "Not anymore, anyway."

Chuck nodded, quite happy to change the subject from his taste in conquests. "I meant to tell you… nice work," he raised his glass in appreciation.

"Well, the way you casually deadpanned the whole affair was a nice touch," she answered, her tone sarcastic. She should have been the one to tell Cabbage Patch. It was her right. She was quite happy that Chuck got pushed around for beating her to the punch line. It had certainly been fun to watch. Even Chuck himself had looked amused when Dan lost it.

It was unclear whether Chuck registered said sarcasm and just didn't care, or genuinely thought she complimented him, either way he bowed his head, "I aim to please."

Blair absently played with the toothpick that previously held her would-be magical olive. Her good mood, which she worked hard to achieve, was now completely dissipated. She once again felt crappy and ugly and fat and hurt. Her boyfriend slept with her best friend and they both lied about it.

Well, apparently, all three of her closest friends lied about it.

Chuck, with his keen sense of women, noticed Blair's stiffened shoulders and signaled the bartender for another drink. The nosey employee that should have been fired ages ago gave him a weary look, as if to say, "your funeral, buddy.'

Although Blair was gulping the drink in a pretty frightening manner, Chuck still made a mental note to get that idiot of a bartender fired. Obviously, he was unaware as to who Chuck was.

It seemed like hours before Blair finally broke the silence.

"So… you knew." It was anything but a question.

He sighed. "I did."

"For how long?"

"The whole time."

"Did Nate tell you?" she asked shakily, her eyes as wide as saucers. It hadn't occurred to her that he might have… bragged about bagging Serena Van Der Woodsen. Maybe all the guys passed a vodka bottle around and listened eagerly as Nate regaled them with stories of every moan, every kiss, every second of his betrayal.

Blair's stomach churned again. She was drinking too much.

She forgot Nate was as surprised as her.

Chuck shook his head, "No need, I caught the live show. Not as impressive as you'd think."

She winced, her nausea worsening. She chugged the rest of her drink, ignoring her body's pleas. "I've actually never pictured it, thank you very much."

Chuck looked at her oddly, "R-ight."

He reluctantly signaled for another martini, though even he had a feeling it was a bad idea.

Blair laughed, her voice brittle and poisonous, "But apparently, you have. And, you kind of admire her for, you know, stabbing me in the back?" She shoved the key into his chest in a way that she knew would hurt and almost snarled, "Thanks a lot, Chuck. Nice party."

She started to leave and Chuck sighed. "Wait."

Blair turned around, clearly exasperated.

He was not going to say this. Not gonna, not gonna, not gonna.

Oh, who was he kidding? "I'm sorry," he murmured.

But Blair was unimpressed by this obvious lapse of character and merely sneered. "You can't even help it. You have to be cheeky, regardless of whom it hurts. Otherwise, who are you?"

Chuck found that he was actually insulted by that. His knee-jerk reaction was to snarl 'bitch', but he had enough self control to not embarrass himself. Bitch lacked the necessary shot of pain he was aiming for. Hell, she'd probably be flattered.

He nodded curtly. "Right… as long as you understand."

Her smile was no less curt, or cold. "Of course."

Chuck smirked and dangled the key in her face, part of him wanting to defuse the tension while another wanted to bite back, twist the knife. "Wanna get back at him?" he offered, winking. "Apparently, my suite is free."

"Pass," she snapped.

He pouted dramatically, "Aw."

Blair pressed her lips, visibly building a brick-wall between her self and this jerk she sometimes considered her friend. "Actually, if you're looking for a way to make it up to me-"

"I wasn't aware I was," he murmured.

"-You'll forget this whole thing." Chuck raised an amused eyebrow, which she ignored.

She commanded herself to regain control of this situation. Having Chuck know was bad, having him know before her was worse. He could use this to humiliate her for ages to come, not to mention his disturbing affection for Gossip Girl, the devil herself. More often than not, he was the one who tipped her off about the latest scandal. She shuddered at the thought of how much damage he could have caused her.

The fact that he didn't had her indebted to him – another scary thought.

She cleared her throat and adapted her most serious, clarifying tone, "It happened a long time ago, and it was just a stupid mistake between two former friends. It could happen to anyone."

Chuck smirked. "Anyone?"

Blair scoffed, "See, this is exactly why I try to never get drunk."

His smirk didn't falter, on the contrary. "Really? Because you're in your, what, seventh martini? And my suite is so, so close."

"Didn't I just ask you to never talk about it again?" she snapped. "And yet, here you are, talking about it."

He brushed a soft lock from her face in an almost aggressive motion. It was a telling sign of anger that he was crossing a sacred line between them so blatantly by invading her personal space. "Actually, this doesn't count," he licked his lips. "I was just hitting on you on an unrelated note."

Blair didn't bother to pull back. She knew it'd be equal to losing. "Just promise me," she said firmly.

Chuck felt like asking, 'or you'll what?', but for once in his life, demonstrated some forgotten trace of tact. His voice lowered into a taunting whisper, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Cross what heart?" she snarled.

He opened his mouth to retaliate, but she silenced him with a practiced glare.

The argument was settled, yet neither of them was appeased.

"Whatever. I promise," Chuck huffed. He seriously considered breaking this promise. "You can sit back down now." Though he had no idea why the hell he was asking this shrew to stay, he signaled the bartender for a refill. Maybe another drink would loosen her tongue enough to apologize back. If he did, it was only fair that she would too.

The bartender, however, clearly thought this was a disaster plan, if his paleness was any indication.

Blair motioned for him to stop. "No thank you, it's late."

Chuck rolled his eyes, "Don't be a bitch, Waldorf. Have another drink while I get the car. It'll do you good."

"I said no, thank you," she snapped. "Good night."

She turned around and he turned back to his scotch, eyeing it coldly.

"You know," he started, still staring into his scotch. Blair looked upwards wearily before turning around. He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto hers, neither showing even the slightest trace of warmth. "I can't help feeling like I'm getting a hit that's meant for Nathanial. I don't like that. This is not my problem."

Blair, who had been holding herself stiffly, deflated with a sigh. "I just asked you to stop talking about it." She felt betrayed for some reason.

Chuck rolled his eyes, "Which I already agreed to do."

"Then why do you keep bringing it up?" she almost whimpered.

"It slipped," he snarled. "Won't happen again, your highness."

"Good, then we're done here," she said, her voice dripping with vehemence.

Chuck sneered, raising his glass. "Guess so."

"You should really take care of that eye," she said. "It makes you look like more of a loser troublemaker than usual." Her heels clicked angrily as she strutted out of the bar, not sparing him another glance.

Great, now she was channeling his father, of all people. The day just kept getting better.

"Gimmie another one," he ordered.

The bartender looked dizzy. Never in his life has he seen people consume this much alcohol without passing out. And he was pretty sure these kids were under-aged! He served Chuck anxiously.

Chuck sipped his scotch and felt lousy.

Figures

Nate got the sex while he got the grief.

Just once he would like to trade places.

See how Nate liked to be on the receiving end of Blair's wrath.

This is the part where I use the puppy-dog's eyes and ask for your input. Review?