Disclaimer: I own none of this, otherwise it would have been stupid to read the books – I mean, they'd be mine. How cool are they, by the way? And if the show was mine, I would have resolved the Nate\Blair\Chuck issue with much nudity, or, you know, at all.
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: Every chapter would center around a new episode, so…
I am beyond grateful to all of you who took the time to review. If it were up to me, you'd [insert some sort of wish] and then some. I love you! And I'm also taking the TOEFL test on Friday, so I also need you, for moral support and such? On a final note, Jeepers Creepers (what?), this chapter was a nightmare. I mean, Chuck wasn't even in the episode. Not even a mention, a throwback, anything? Poor boy. But I do hope you like this. And forever thanks to gleechild for being the very best beta ever.
Enjoy!
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Chapter 5
Not Quite Dare, but Definitely Devil
Spotted: N, fretting over money. There's something you don't see every day. C, locked in his suite, talking to his mysterious girlfriend. Knowing C, I'm guessing… Phone sex? B, also on the phone. Hmm, anything I should know about? And more importantly, is no one planning to go out tonight? Honestly, guys.
:-:
Blair sifted through the photos Serena sent her from Central Park. They both looked ridiculously giddy and stupid. They looked like they were on drugs, and a menace to the good people of New York. Except, naturally, Serena looked better doing it. Serena looked better when she came back sweaty from a jog in her brother's ratty sweatshirt than Blair looked when she climbed down the stairs dramatically, fluffed and prettied to the max.
This never would have happened if Serena had just stayed away. She loved Serena, she really did, but it was easier when she was away. The world was Blair's and she shamelessly reveled in it.
Blair hated being the Ugly Friend.
But she did love Serena. Serena was her best friend, almost her sister. Except, since when did sisters get along, anyway?
They did look happy in the pictures though, so there was that.
Doing the brand an injustice, indeed.
Sometimes her mother could be such a bitch.
Blair felt an uncontrollable urge to spend her mother's money and be worshipped. And if it couldn't be by her mother or her stupid boyfriend – who was never good in the worshipping department – it would have to be by her friends at Blair Waldorf's annual soiree. One of many, in fact. This one would be the Waldorf's infamous slumber party, though no one called it that anymore. It was so ninth grade.
Speaking of which, what was going on with her and Nate, anyway? Their relationship needed a boost. It would be her next project after the slumber par- uh, soiree. Something romantic, exciting, magical. Mysterious. A special night, and then everything would go back to normal.
Her phone rang, annoyingly cutting off her line of thought. Sometimes she hated the damn thing. Especially when it was Gossip Girl poking fun at her for some reason or other.
She looked at the caller ID and froze. Oh. Oh, right. She forgot about that little problem.
With admirable resolve, she brought the phone to her ear and adopted an annoying jolly chirp, "He-llo?"
Chuck nearly tossed the phone aside with a cringe. "Blair?" he hesitated.
"Oh, it's you," she sighed, as if she hadn't known.
He chuckled and it sounded menacing to her. She felt like she was on the verge of bloodshed. Her own bloodshed.
"I never feel more welcomed than when I'm talking to you," he said.
Why was he calling her? Didn't she have enough on her plate already?
Maybe he forgot about the whole thing. He was drunk, after all… very drunk by the sound of it. And it's not like Chuck Bass was the epitome of a long and healthy attention span. It's not like he cared, anyway. She figured that the best strategy would be to distract him with his favorite topic of conversation: himself.
"How'd the Lost Weekend thing go?" she asked sweetly. "Did that no-goodnic Carter bother you again? I haven't read any obituaries on the subject, so I'm guessing not."
Chuck sounded smug, "He got what he deserved, sort of. He won't be around again."
Blair gasped, "Sortof? Chuck Bass, are you the one getting soft?"
"Don't even joke about that, missy," he sneered. He would get soft exactly never. "I had to play clean; it was your boyfriend's fault."
"Nate?"
He rolled his eyes. "No, your other boyfriend. Yes, Nate."
Blair smiled affectionately. That Nate, couldn't take him anywhere. It was funny how Nate was the only soul on earth who brought out the nag in Chuck. "What did he do this time?"
In his suite, Chuck fingered his wrist where his watch used to be. He hated it when people snatched his toys away. "He got played, of course. Sometimes I wonder, have I taught him nothing?" he sighed sadly.
"Apparently not, thank God," Blair phew-ed. She liked her Nate wholesome and adorable, thank you very much. He was perfect and innocent and so was she, and that was how things were meant to be. There was no need for a scoundrel like Chuck to corrupt him. But she was still curious. "What do you mean, though? How?"
"Why don't you just ask him?" Chuck asked childishly, resisting an urge to stick out his tongue like when they were kids and she was annoying him. "What am I, your private Gossip Girl?"
Blair smiled wickedly at the prospect. "Hmm… sounds temping. Would you consider being?"
Chuck smirked, "Maybe. If the price was right."
She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Well, I did walk right into that one."
"You have only yourself to blame," he informed her cheekily, forever happy to toss innuendos about.
Blair tried to roll her eyes as nicely as possible. Everyone had their hobbies, she supposed. Chuck was mostly harmless. Mostly. Besides, her plan was working. He had yet to mention it. "So, if you've taken care of Carter, what do you need?"
Chuck almost pouted. He was seriously beginning to feel somewhat unwelcome here. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"If you didn't call me to whine about Carter stealing your spotlight and my boyfriend, there must be something else you've called to whine about," she smiled sweetly.
Chuck huffed, "Excuse me? I didn't call you so that I could whine."
"This time," Blair reminded.
Hmm, it sort of sounded like she was needlessly baiting him. How sweet of her to try. "Your insults aren't quite insulting today, Blair darlin'. I worry." His lips formed a smirk as he finally brought up what he assumed she was avoiding. "It either went really good or really bad."
Blair's first instinct was ignorance. "What did?"
His smirk widened. "Ah, I see. You thought I'd forget? Nice try." It was so much fun when she squirmed.
And, as he hoped, though he couldn't see her, Blair squirmed. "Look, can we not?"
"Nope," he dragged the word tauntingly. "So, how'd it go?"
"Don't ask," she pleaded.
"Believe I just did?"
There was a long sigh on the other end.
Chuck practically licked his lips. Oh, this was getting better and better. It didn't take much to awaken Chuck's notorious imagination. Had her dress ripped? Had she been asked to model lingerie after all? Had she tripped on her heels and there was a photo of her flailing her arms around and screaming for help? Oh, the blackmail material was almost too much to bear.
Blair took a deep breath and commenced dragging herself out of the hole she unintentionally dug for herself. "It was such a disaster," she exhaled dramatically.
It reminded Chuck of her over cheerful greeting to Dr. Ostroff, the way she emphasized the such. Blair had a tendency to oversell and no one seemed to ever pick up on it. Sometimes she'd smile this sunny smile that made people melt and agree to anything she wanted or believe whatever lie she was telling. When, really, what they needed to be doing was flee.
He couldn't believe she was trying it on him, of all people. It must have been more embarrassing than in his wildest dreams.
"A disaster?" he smiled, faking sympathy almost like the pro herself.
"I pulled out at the last minute and my mom freaked out," she dragged the word way more than necessary. "I'm telling you, it was a total train wrack. You would have loved it."
Well, he didn't know about her mother, but she was certainly freaking him out. It wasn't even funny anymore. "What are you talking about? Why?"
"Please. Me, modeling?" She scoffed, "I hate modeling. It's so cheap. Why do I have to sell my body so that some girl will buy my mother's clothes? It's humiliating." She was clearly getting more and more into it. "I mean, I want her to do well, but enough is enough. And can you imagine what it would do to my chances of getting into Yale? They would totally revoke my application. Modeling doesn't exactly scream Ivy League, you know?"
She was actually panting slightly, clearly having put all she had into that little speech. Chuck was quite overwhelmed by it, as well as by an unexpected wave of concern that attacked him unawares. Only something truly disastrous could have fueled that outburst.
He sighed, "If it's any consolation, that's actually a really good point."
Blair stiffened defensively. Had she said too much? Why didn't she just tell him it had gone nicely? It wasn't like he would have remembered in a couple of months. "What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.
Chuck smiled affectionately, "What, you didn't actually think I'd believe you, do you?"
"I don't care whether you believe me, Charles," she almost hissed. "You asked."
Charles, huh? "Oh, my full name. How wounding," he mocked. "But seriously, come on, you built all this intrigue, now you have to tell me."
Blair exhaled with irritation. "Tell you what? Are you drunk?"
"No," he answered flatly.
"Well, maybe you should be. You make more sense when you're drunk."
Two insults in seven seconds. This was looking worse and worse by the minute. "Blair," he drawled quietly. His voice was considerably deeper than usual, a tone reserved for Nate and Blair when they – frequently, it should be said – suffered their varied mental breakdowns. "What happened?"
The knot in her throat that she had been storing without disturbance ever since she opened herself up to – ugh – Dan Humphrey, cracked under pressure. "What do you think?" she snapped. "I was replaced, with Serena. Can we let this go?" she couldn't make her voice not break at the end of every sentence. She wanted this call to end.
Chuck raised an eyebrow, "Uh… I'm gonna go with 'no'?"
"Please?" she practically whimpered.
Chuck sat back with a sigh. Oh, great. This was what he had been talking about when he warned Blair that Serena would make her miserable. Someone award him a medal for successfully foreseeing the future, and then award him a booklet with instructions for occasions such as this.
Because really, what was he supposed to do? What could he do? Buy flowers? Chocolates? No, that was Nate's job, which he was miserably failing at. Chuck could tell her she was gorgeous until the cows came home but it would never be the same as when the boyfriend said it, since he could actually back it up with cuddling or Eskimo kisses or whatever the hell couples did when they weren't fighting or having sex.
Wait, should he have said something about Nate's weird financial situation? Should he say something to Nate about the nervous breakdown Blair was experiencing? Why was he the one carrying around all these issues? Ever since Serena returned, Nate and Blair seemed to exist on two different planes, with him stuck in the middle. Chuck, as the link between the two young lovers – how ridiculous was that?
How was he supposed to fix either of their lives?
While he forgot himself in his mental tirade, Blair seemed to have reached a decision to just unload.
Well, decision was such a strong word.
"It appears…" she started and trailed off, sniffling. "That using me would have done the brand an injustice, and that I was horrible and all wrong for the part of joyful, sparkling beauty. Remind you of anyone we know?" she spat. "Anyway, I was unceremoniously dropped, and Serena was offered the job. Are you satisfied now?"
Chuck frowned. "Are you kidding?"
"I wish," Blair moaned, furiously wiping her eyes.
He couldn't stop the surprised exclamation that escaped his lips, "But… you're stunning."
Blair rolled her eyes. Smarmy bastard. "What-ever, Chuck. Don't you have some chores?"
Chuck actually laughed at this, out loud. Chores, indeed. "Hey, I'm just trying to help."
"Screw you," Blair spat.
Chuck smirked widely, "Would that make you feel better?"
"You're heinous." And the worst possible person to confide in. Good job, Blair. The only person who would actually be worse was Gossip Girl.
"Yes, I am," he agreed, as if she had given him a compliment. "I'm your designated scapegoat, remember? I look bad so that you'll look good? Don't worry, I don't mind," he quickly assured her, lest she got all moral and stopped including him in her schemes. "So, would you be requiring revenge? Poor Serena wouldn't know what hit her."
Don't agree, don't agree, don't agree, she scolded herself when her fist instinct was to give Chuck the green light. "No, Serena was great. Obviously." She sighed, "I just wanna forget about the whole thing, if you think you're capable of letting it go without further discussion."
As always, it was his gift to her, but he liked to think he still had some backbone. "I don't know, B. You've been getting too many free passes lately."
Which was another way of saying her life was a mess. Thanks, prick. She was annoyed but her voice dripped of girly, manipulative sweetness. "Come on, Chuck, please?"
Chuck leaned back, exhaling deeply. "Oh, I do like the sound of that."
Blair wanted to gag. Perv. Her smile widened, her voice softened still, "Pretty please?"
Blair Waldorf, begging. He thought he couldn't have been more turned on if she were doing this on her knees while wearing a sexy little slip. Of course, this was bull, as thinking about this delicious scenario in fact turned him on even further. This was a dangerous road he was willingly taking but he knew nothing of caution. Instead, he smirked in the face of danger and made it worse. "You'll show me the pictures from the make-up test?"
"No way," Blair snapped, her voice turning brittle in a flash.
It was probably better that way, he tried telling himself. Possibly because she was his best friend's girlfriend.
"But I will owe you one," Blair amended after a moment.
Another one? "You owe me a lot."
"How is that a bad thing for you?" she cooed.
Chuck grinned wickedly, thinking – while making fruitless attempt to stop thinking - of all the possibilities. "Hmm, good point. Alright, I'll think about it."
"And I'm sure you'll reach the right decision," it was neither a question nor a suggestion, merely a fact. He would not deny her, or else.
Yeah, yeah, whatever, as if he was planning to refuse. Nevertheless, this conversation was starting to freak him out. His mind really needed to stop going there. Really, really. They were just not like that. There had to be some way to terminate this childish lust; something to remind him that she was a prim bossy little bitch that sometimes nearly drove him to tears with irritation.
A light-bulb came to life.
"Hey, what are you doing tomorrow for lunch?" he asked.
Blair sighed. Already? "Whatever you ask of me, I guess," she said obediently, already making a list of exceptions to that statement.
Of course, Chuck automatically considered these exceptions as well, only in a decidedly different way. Focus, he commanded. He was Chuck Bass and not thirteen. He cleared his throat. "I need your AP math knowledge for a little project."
Blair's eyebrows almost disappeared in her lovely brown hair. "Homework, Chuck? Really? Wow, I am disappointed like you wouldn't believe."
He chuckled. God help him; let it never come to that. "Not homework, a business model of sorts," he explained before quickly adding: "And no, in case you were wondering, this does not cover your debt with me. But it's a start."
Blair's eyes darkened, "Well, when you put it so nicely."
Chuck smugly ignored her, a sense of power overwhelming his senses. "I'll be at Central Park and you'll be carrying an extra coffee and a dazzling smile," he hummed. "Black with two sugars, by the way."
"You're having way too much fun with this," she warned, almost adding 'and retribution will not be kind'. But there was no need; he'll find that out soon enough if it was up to her.
"Uh-uh-uh," Chuck scolded sweetly. "Are you talking back? Are you sure that's wise?"
Blair smirked despite herself. This stupid cat-and-mouse game was actually amusing. It sent a mischievous wave of anticipation down her spine and all the way to her toes. Today Chuck had the upper hand, tomorrow she would. And nobody knew of this sinister back-and-forth, not a single soul. "Sorry, Mr. Bass," she breathed. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"And don't be late," he drawled back.
She chuckled, "Don't worry, I won't. I would, however, think twice about drinking anything offered by me if I were you, you know?"
"Oh, I'm not worried," he assured. "I'll just make you drink some first."
"Excellent!" Blair chirped. "Because holy water will have no affect on me."
He laughed. Cute. "See you tomorrow, B."
"Not if I see you first, C," she answered cutely. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a slumber party to plan."
Chuck smirked, "Ah, the perfect parting words."
"You're not invited."
"Which means absolutely nothing to me," he drawled.
"You'll be rampaged by a pack of well-manicured Upper East Side girls. And not in the way you dream of every night," she added before he had the chance to comment. "But I'll call you if I need something to do between the pillow fight in our underwear and Truth or Dare."
Now that was just mean. Why do that? Chuck couldn't trust himself to speak. For the first time since ever, he found himself counting backwards from ten and trying to think about football or his history teacher.
Blair chucked, "And on that note, see you tomorrow, Chuck darling."
She hung up before the swarm of colorful swearwords escaped his lips.
Parting is such sweet sorrow, hope I'll see you back tomorrow! Er… or something to that effect, that would somehow both rhyme and request a review. I'm not a poet and I certainly know it.