'Forty-eight thousand seats bleat and roar for my memories of you
But something good tonight will make me forget about you for now.'
Manhattan was battening down for winter, the sky above Central Park heavy with mist and the trees bare, grass scattered with amber leaves.
And behind one tree, Chuck could see Damien. Pretending not to hide. His grey coat was buttoned up to his face and he held a cup of coffee - like that fooled Chuck for a second. He'd been tailing the guy, and he knew he was in Central Park, now, because Blair had been spotted nearby. Chuck hadn't been to this duck pond himself since before Blair went away. He suspected Damien was hanging around on the off-chance of running into her. Well, Chuck thought scornfully, if he'd known her at all then he'd at least be carrying a loaf of bread.
"I wasn't aware you liked ducks, Bass."
Chuck paused at the drawl behind him.
"I wasn't aware you did either."
Carter was standing behind him. His eyes were narrowed as he took Chuck in, cold. They hadn't spoken since Chuck had showed up at the Waldorf penthouse looking for Blair. "What the hell are you doing here?" Carter's lip curled. "Stalking her now?"
No, Chuck didn't snap. Stalking her stalker.
"I'm not allowed to go to Central Park?" he asked coolly instead.
Carter just snorted. "Give it up." His tone was like ice. "My sister's made it clear she doesn't want you, so stop following her."
Chuck glared at him. "You should be focusing your efforts elsewhere if you're so convinced Blair needs protecting. Believe me, I'm not the one you should be getting all big brother on. Damien Dalgaard's the one following her."
At that, the other guy rolled his eyes. "Dalgaard? Please. He may be a creep like you, but he doesn't have your special skill for hurting her. I know exactlywho needs to stay away." He still remembered Blair's white face at Lily's – and Chuck, of course, behind her. He knew exactly whose fault it was if she'd relapsed, because there was only one person who affected Blair that much.
(He needed to know. He needed to have someone to blame).
Chuck rolled his eyes and turned to point out Damien. But there was no sign of him. He'd obviously seen Carter and scarpered - the little weasel. "Look-"
"What's going on?"
They both turned at the voice. Blair stood behind them, eyebrows raised. She avoided looking at Chuck and focused on her brother instead.
"When you said you wanted to see me, Carter, I assumed you meant alone."
"I did," Carter snarled. "Bass was just leaving. Weren't you?"
Chuck dragged his gaze away from Blair. Away from that slim, delicious figure in her blue coat and those dark eyes that refused to look at him. Her brown curls were soft in the afternoon light and whipped, lightly, by the wind. "I was." He was already turning away. He had to get back to his mission - he was going to track Damien down. And he was going to get the little creep.
Blair forced herself to watch Carter instead of Chuck's retreating figure. (His eyes had been the same dark amber as the leaves, and she shouldn't even have noticed because she shouldn't even have been looking at him). "So what did you want to talk about?"
Carter had suggested the duck pond because he knew it used to soothe her – and because it was middle ground. Not the Waldorf penthouse and not Chuck's place. He couldn't help studying his sister as he faced her; like if he looked hard enough he could somehow tell.
It had been Serena who'd noticed when Blair was fourteen, Serena who'd got in touch with the school because Blair had refused to listen to her. Carter knew that the blonde had hoped contacting Canterbury Academy would get the problem dealt with directly, rather than the humiliation of involving Blair's big brother. Blair would never have forgiven her if she'd gone straight to Carter. Because what did Carter know about eating disorders? He'd never talked about it, directly, to Blair – she'd never wanted to bring it up with him, so he'd never pushed it. He'd got the specialist to help her and report back with progress.
He knew his sister had issues with food, and he knew they stemmed back to Eleanor and Blair's need for control. But discussing them wasn't something either of them wanted to do. It would be like him telling her the specifics of his last coke bender. There were some things that a brother and sister didn't – couldn't - talk about.
But if what Evelyn had said was true...then Carter didn't have a choice. He'd considered calling Serena, but the truth was that he was sick of other people telling him what was or wasn't wrong with his sister. And he wasn't planning on taking any more chances. If she'd relapsed, then it had been since she'd got home and he needed to know. And if not, then she could tell him herself.
He repressed a sigh and pulled out the loaf of bread he'd been carrying. Blair's eyes widened, despite herself, as she glanced at it and then at him. Carter had used to mock her no end for her duck-feeding habits. He'd used to crack that the ducks probably hid in fear every time they saw her coming. The one time she'd convinced him to come – because Dorota was sick - he'd played target practice with the bread.
She arched a brow at him now. "Is this an apology?"
That made him purse his lips a little. They didn't do apologies. And he damn well wasn't apologzing because of Chuck. "For what?" He wished she'd take the bread so he didn't look like quite such a tool holding it.
She did no such thing. "For desecrating our parents' bed with Tish?" Her tone was dry as she appraised her brother - and that did make him stop. "I heard you," she assured him.
He at least felt bad enough to flinch. "You shouldn't be sneaking around," he muttered darkly. She wasn't even meant to have been home that night.
"I don't think you'd have heard even if I'd been stomping around." She pulled a face at the memory.
He did too. Or rather, at the fact that she'd heard it. There was silence for a moment between them. "It's an empty bed," he said at last. He didn't like thinking about just how empty it was, so he did the only thing he knew how and violated it. Anything was better than that silent space where no one dared venture. Still, that didn't mean Blair had to hear it. Jesus. And just because he worked like that didn't mean she did.
He glanced at her.
Oh, hell. His plan had been to give her the damn loaf so he didn't have to get his hands dirty - watching her feed the stupid birds was degrading enough.
Reluctantly, now, he tore off a piece himself and he tried not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. "So...how do I throw this, exactly? Without knocking the ducks out," he added with another sigh. "I suppose."
She smiled a little. Because she knew this was her brother's way of apologizing. Feeding the ducks in broad daylight was not something he'd ever consider doing otherwise. It was humiliation enough.
Chuck's limo pulled up next to an alley, and he waited in the car until Damien had finished with whatever sketchy guy he was doing business with. As Damien went to skulk past, he rolled down the window. "Dalgaard," he called lazily.
Damien froze. He turned and found Chuck Bass, of all people, watching him. He tried not to glower at the guy. "Can I help you?"
Chuck's mouth curved a little, his face impassive as those black eyes tracked him. "I thought I'd offer you a ride."
"I can walk," Damien snapped back. "Thanks."
"I insist," Chuck murmured. "I think it's time we talked."
Damien's eyes narrowed. Well, fine. Maybe he could use this opportunity to find out what exactly had happened with Blair - and use the information to his advantage later. Plus something about the gleam in Chuck's eye told him he'd probably be followed in the limo anyway.
Chuck moved back to let him into the car, door closing behind him. He was leaning quite comfortably on the leather seats - Damien made the mistake of picking the shorter one and suddenly felt like he was about to be interrogated. He arranged his face in a sneer anyway as he sized the other guy up. "So what are we supposed to talk about?"
Chuck, however, was pouring himself some scotch. He held out a glass for Damien; Damien snatched it from him. It burned his throat as he downed it in one, making him grimace hideously.
Chuck regarded him as he took his own langurous sip. He cocked his head. "I saw you in Central Park today," he drawled. "And in Sak's yesterday, and at Bijoux the day before." He drank a little more, in no rush, while Damien was left gripping his empty glass. "You certainly get around."
Damien's face turned an ugly colour. "Is there a reason you've been following me?" he demanded nastily.
Chuck smiled a little. It didn't reach his eyes. "How do you know I wasn't following Blair?"
That threw him for a second. Chuck smiled again and took another sip. Finally, Damien's eyes narrowed as he drew himself up. "I think I will walk." He went to toss aside the glass and Chuck made no move to stop him. The car, however, sped up. Damien glared at him in disbelief. "Tell your driver to stop."
"Don't worry," Chuck reassured him. "I'm going to drop you home. The St. Regis, isn't it?" His hand flexed on the top of the seat as he crossed his legs, easy. "I hear your father's in town too. That must be nice for you." His tone was pleasant.
Damien went puce. "Are you threatening me?" he hissed.
Chuck looked faux surprised, slow gaze flickering over the other guy. "Why would I threaten you?"
"You son of a-"
"Bitch? Accurate," Chuck reflected, "And hardly insulting. But here's the thing, Dalgaard. I'm not Humphrey. If you outstay your welcome as far as Blair's concerned - well, I would want to make sure you didn't bother her again. But I'm pretty sure she knows you and your father better than I do. So honestly...this is more of a warning than a threat."
The car came to a sudden halt. Chuck glanced out of the window and then back at Damien.
"And here's your stop now." He wasn't smiling any more as his eyes moved coldly over him, dismissing him. "You're welcome."
Damien yanked the door open and climbed out. He slammed it behind him.
"Did you enjoy Lily's party?"
Blair glanced at her brother. She still didn't want to think about Lily's party - and Carter looked back for a moment like he'd sensed her reluctance. She pushed it away. "Of course. Looked like Tish did too," she added, innocent. "Her and Dan seem to have really hit it off."
As predicted, Carter's brow darkened a touch. "Well," he scoffed, "I'm sure the bumbling virgin gave her a great time."
"Actually, I don't think they ever slept together."
For a split second, Carter looked almost frozen. They hadn't slept together? But Tish lived for sex. What the hell had they been doing?
"I think Dan said they had a real intellectual connection," Blair mused. She tried to repress a smirk as she watched her brother. "Reading, going to museums..."
"Tish hates museums," Carter pointed out irritably. Unless they had cloakrooms or empty galleries to hook up in. "More like he bored her senseless."
"Well, maybe he wants to educate her. Broaden her horizons." Blair glanced at him again, sideways. "Maybe she got bored of guys assuming she's just good in bed."
It was hardly just - Tish was incredibly vain about being good in bed. (And she was a lot better than good). "Please," Carter rolled his eyes in disgust. "Like your little friend wasn't drooling all over her at Lily's. Just because she doesn't waste her time reading poetry," he snorted, "Doesn't mean she needs your pretentious little classmate to educate her."
Blair grinned secretly as she tossed another piece of bread into the pond. "You know," she said, and her tone was sweet, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sounded jealous."
Carter just gave her a look. "Don't be ridiculous." Jealous of someone like Dan Humphrey? Of a highschooler? He just thought Tish had better things to do with her time. Anyway, he remembered, annoyed - Blair was still smirking - he was supposed to be the one asking questions.
That sobered him up again.
"So what's happening with you and Chuck?"
Her smile disappeared, just like that. "Nothing," she snapped. Absolutely nothing. Unless you counted avoidance every hour of the day, and the fact that as soon as she stopped for even a second her thoughts moved straight back to him. Him and Raina. Him and any other girl. Him at Bass Industries - she'd seen how well he was doing - just him. Her willpower was meant to be so much better. She glowered at her brother now. Why the hell was he even bringing him up? "I'm sure you'll be happy to know."
Carter rolled his eyes. "I'd rather know that you're happy." Blair pasued for a moment; she and Carter weren't the kind of siblings who cared and shared.Waldorfs did not outwardly express concern for one another.
Her brother was actually being serious now - and it made her swallow. "Of course I am." It came out automatic. Was she happy? She was building a life for herself at Columbia. She'd got the internship she wanted and she was achieving. She was more than happy with all of that. And if she missed Chuck at all -
She didn't, she told herself. She couldn't. Blair Waldorf could be with Chuck. She couldn't, and she'd settled for that. She'd be more unhappy if she was still with him and he realised she wasn't the girl he thought she was. She'd be more unhappy if she thought for a second that he pitied her; if she let him pity her.
"I'm happy," she said to Carter, firmly.
Carter was silent for a moment, and she couldn't tell if he believed her or not. "I never asked you why you stopped seeing Dr. Sherman." His voice was slightly stiff when he finally spoke. They were heading into the dangerous territory of feelings talk that no Waldorf had ever been comfortable with. Least of all Carter. "You only went to one session. What happened?"
Blair was quiet. Then she gave a little shrug. "I realised it wasn't helping. I don't need therapy, Carter. I've had enough." God, had she had enough.
"And the dreams?"
She bit her lip. "I told you. Talking about them every day doesn't make them stop."
Carter seemed to consider this. "And everything else?"
Her eyes slanted just a bit. "What everything else?"
He exhaled, shortly. "The other therapist you saw at Canterbury. You haven't needed him at all?"
"What are you talking about?"
He looked at her, face expressionless. "You know what I'm talking about."
Her mouth opened for a second, then closed. She knew her brother. She swallowed and forced a smile. "Carter. Is this the real reason we're here?"
Carter pressed his lips together. "Just answer the question."
"No." She stared at him. "God. I haven't." She hadn't since she was fifteen. She was aware that her relationship with food - her therapist had liked that phrase - still wasn't exactly healthy, but she hadn't binged or purged in nearly four years. She'd made sure of it. The temptation crept up, sometimes, but she'd so far managed to fight it. And still the idea that Carter thought, even for a second, that she'd succumbed again -
"I haven't." It was more fierce this time.
He searched her face for a moment. He'd always used to know when his sister was lying. Until Eleanor and Harold and a summer in the Hamptons when she'd kept smiling and telling him she was fine till she'd ended up with blue lips not breathing on a beach. She'd told him that she didn't know how it had happened and he'd been too terrified, then - still - to work out if she was lying or not. She'd told him she'd stopped having nightmares and then he'd caught her, seven years after they'd supposedly stopped, sobbing in the night. She'd told him there was nothing going on with Chuck -
But her eyes were burning now and he'd never seen her look more determined. He'd asked her, and she'd told him. And the truth was that eating disorders were always something Carter had scorned, mocked, made sick jokes of - anorexic models and in-house bulimics - but when it came to his sister, he was out of his league because it wasn't quite so funny any more. And maybe it was because he wasn't a girl, and maybe it was because he was her brother - but he couldn't bring himself to push her. Not on this.
"Ok."
She turned away so he didn't see just how furiously her teeth were pressed into her lip. Just at the mention of it. Just at the suggestion that there was something else she couldn't deal with when she'd been fighting to do so for so long. She couldn't face asking him if he actually believed her. If he really was convinced. Because he'd asked in the first place, hadn't he?
She was so sick of this.
Blair eventually slipped away claiming work, but it was too late. Her good mood had been destroyed. She threw herself into the tasks Epperly had set her that afternoon - her review was glowing, and she was pleased - but the frustration still seethed through her, bubbling inside. When was it ever going to be enough?
Serena had been planning on a night out for all of them, and Blair was so wound up now that she was already dreading it. She wanted to forget. She didn't want that reminder, and she didn't want to deal with having to see Chuck. If they went out and she had to watch girls falling over him - because this was exactly what she'd asked for, and it made her feel so sick. (And if she was trying to convince Carter that she damn well hadn't relapsed, feeling sick probably wasn't the best idea). It still hurt. Not because she didn't know exactly who Chuck was, but because it reminded her that less than a month ago none of those girls would even have existed because she'd had him. Except she'd never really had him. The girl she wanted to be had him. And she wanted him so much - so badly - all of him, that she'd let herself forget that and it hurt.
"Blair?" She was on the verge of leaving the office when Epperly stopped her, looking stressed as ever. "Denise has just called in sick, and she was supposed to be covering the shoot tonight. Can you do it?"
Finally, something good - Blair didn't even hesitate. "Of course!" She was smiling already. Not only was this an amazing opportunity, but she now had the perfect excuse to cancel on Serena tonight. And, more importantly, something else to focus on.
Perfect.
Serena lay flushed and contented on Nate's bare chest, loosely dressed in his shirt as he sighed happily. "What time is it?" he murmured, glancing over her mane of blonde hair to the clock. Then he let out a little groan. "Oh, man. I was meant to be at my mom's half an hour ago." He leaned back against the pillow, though, because the last thing he felt like doing was moving.
Serena made a little noise. "Mmm. And Blair's meant to calling to let me know what time she finishes tonight." She propped herself up on her elbows, reaching her phone. She frowned when she saw the text from her best friend. Sorry S, Epperly needs me. Raincheck on tonight? She let out a little sigh. She shouldn't really have been that surprised - she knew how crazy Blair had gone the past month throwing herself into work.
"She's busy again?" Nate peered over her shoulder to read the text.
"More W stuff," Serena confirmed. She sat up, running a hand through her golden hair as she dropped her cell. "I feel like I haven't seen her for weeks," she complained. And she realised Nate was right - she'd take fighting with Blair any day over not seeing her at all.
"Her or Chuck," Nate muttered in agreement. "He's working late again too." He'd been feeling pretty deprived of his own best friend. He'd always known that Chuck and Blair were driven, but...still. Chuck lately had been like a man possessed, and Nate wished it could be summer again - everything had been so easy in the Hamptons. "So I guess this means another night of take-out and guitar hero," he said glumly.
Serena smiled at his morose tone. "I know it's hard losing all the time."
His eyes widened. "Hey! I told you, I was off-game last night."
She just shook her head. "Five games to one, Nate. You kind of suck." Her eyes sparkled as he winced. "Or," she suggested as a better idea struck, "We could go the Brandy Bar and get really drunk?"
His grin was immediate. "I like that plan."
She grinned too. Chuck and Blair did not know what they were missing. She watched her boyfriend heave himself out of bed, reaching for his pants in preparation for his mother's. "Meet you at eight?" She was very tempted to pull him back down onto the mattress with her, though. Just once more. He also looked sorely tempted; in fact, he was just leaning in for another kiss when his phone went.
Anne, of course, asking where he was. He let out a final sigh, smiling reluctantly, and kissed Serena one last time before disappearing.
Serena stretched on the sheets. She was debating taking a shower when her own phone rang. And her brow furrowed when she saw who was calling. She picked it up in surprise.
"Carter?"
Blair was in her element at the fashion show. The owner of the company was a young Frenchwoman who looked set to establish her label as one of Manhattan's top new brands. In other words, this was exactly the kind of experience Blair needed.
Interning at W had kept her busy with articles and parties and office work; it had been a long time since she'd actually come this close to the fashion world again. Not since she'd used to go with Eleanor to the Waldorf Designs show every year. She remembered always sitting backstage with Serena - and she felt a harsh pang, now, that the blonde wasn't here with her. She knew that the only hope she had of establishing herself was to do so away from her best friend, but she missed her. How could she not?
And she suddenly felt strangely lonely as she realised she didn't know a single face in the room. There was no one here to see this. She was supposed to be doing this for herself. There was nobody to share it with, to tell her if she was doing well. Just like there had been no one at boarding school - no one who mattered - to tell her she was getting it and doing it right. But then what did she want? Eleanor to pat her head because she'd made it to a fashion show by herself?
(She remembered talking about it with Chuck, remembered Chuck telling her he couldn't wait to see her ordering people around at her own fashion shows-)
No. She needed to carve her own path. At the moment her brother didn't even think she was capable of getting through the day without therapy. How was she meant to prove to them - all of them - that she wasn't weak, unless she did this by herself? Some of that frustration from earlier was threatening to creep back in, so she resolved to throw herself back into the show.
She was just finishing up an interview with the owner of the comapny herself when she spotted someone she did know.
"Toby?"
He turned, and his face lit up as he recognised her. "Blair!" He glanced at her quizically as he moved over. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm doing a piece for W." She raised an eyebrow. "Why are you here?" Because of all the places she might have expected to see him, she realised, a fashion show wasn't one of them. He came a little closer, and she noticed that he looked almost relieved as he slipped in next to her.
"My father's company is in the middle of signing a deal with Matilde Designs." (She wondered how long Waldorf Designs would be her mother's companybefore she actually started to think of it as her own. Would she ever?) Toby paused as his eyes scanned the room. "I, uh, came because I know nothing about fashion and I somehow thought this would help. Apparently not," he admitted wryly. He accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, taking one to give to Blair as well. "Though at least they're better with the drinks here." He glanced at her clipboard and smiled a little. "But you actually look like you do belong here." He tilted his head. "Shall I let you get back to work?"
Blair glanced at him as his eyes twinkled, warm, down at her. And there it was again - this was easy. He was cute. And he...liked her. Well, he'd said he did. He looked, simply, pleased to see her. And despite herself, she couldn't deny that it was nice to see him too. Why was it so easy? Because Toby didn't know any of it - didn't know Blair Waldorf or the girl she'd become at boarding school, didn't know about therapy or bulimia or any of the things she hated about herself. The truth was that he was far too nice for someone like her and she knew it. But he didn't know her, she remembered. He didn't know that.
She wouldn't have to worry that she was living up to or failing to meet any expectations. Because he had none. He didn't represent the worst parts of herself like Damien did, and he didn't represent the best parts of herself like Chuck did. He didn't know the worst parts of herself like Chuck did. He wasn't Chuck.
If she let it, this could actually be simple. Too bad tonight wasn't going to be the night she let it. She had work to do, and she couldn't afford to let herself get distracted.
"Sorry," she admitted, almost rueful. She was apologising more, she realised, because she actually would've enjoyed spending time with him. But her future came first.
"Well, can I convince you to get a drink me with once you finish?" he enquired. He grinned at her, gentle. "If you want."
She hesitated. "I doubt you'll still be here by the time I'm finished."
He gave her a little shrug. "I'm fine as long as they keep the champagne coming."
Her mouth twitched despite herself, and he smiled. He wasn't Chuck. He didn't smirk like Chuck. But even she had to admit that he had a good smile. She allowed herself to smile back before she returned to work.
Chuck had been in a conference for most of the evening; he checked his phone, now, as he headed for the car. Gossip Girl had been busy.
Spotted : B hard at work. Looks like fashion has finally been reunited with a Waldorf...is B stepping into Eleanor's shoes at long last? We hear Dan Humphrey supposedly works for W too - but if that's the case, why is B the only one we ever see on the job?
Chuck gazed down at the picture of her, mouth curving to himself as he took in her gorgeous black dress and look of concentration. She looked like she was doing brilliantly. And she'd die before she admitted it, but she'd been nervous about getting back into her mother's world. He knew she'd never needed to be.
She looked like she was doing so well that his smile hurt. Because he suddenly wished he could be there, wished he could tell her -
Wished he could be there to celebrate with her. She looked so proud and so determined and so Blair in that one stupid photo that it made him ache. He checked the next message, a more recent blast - and the photo attached to this one was enough to stop him in his tracks altogether. She had her back to the camera, but there was some guy smiling down at her and the look in his eyes was obvious. Amused. Attracted. It made Chuck feel sick even before he read the caption Gossip Girl had posted with it.
Just when we thought she was doing so well. This definitely isn't C - what would your parents say, B?
The guy was into her, that much was clear. Of course he was. But what hurt ten times worse was the fact that Gossip Girl had essentially spelt it out; Blair was making her own decisions. It felt like a punch to his stomach, even as he was dimly aware that he probably had no right for it to be. It wasn't even about the guy, perfect as he looked - it was the thought that Blair was moving on. Which was what he'd stupidly decided he wanted, except now that fierce savage selfish part of him was demanding to know how. How could he want her to move on? How could she move on when they were inevitable and both of them had always known -
He was the one who'd thrown Raina in her face. He was the one who hadn't told her he loved her and let her slip away. Because, he reminded himself, she didn't deserve to have their parents' expectations rammed down her throat and he was selfish - she was selfish too, but that wasn't the point - and he didn't want her to have to become a Bass and he wanted her to be happy. (Happy like he'd been the moment she'd got back from boarding school). Carter was right, he did have a special skill for hurting her. Hurting people was his special skill - he'd got that from Evelyn. However much he denied it, inevitably, always, he would end up hurting even her.
But his attempt to be rational was doing nothing to ease the furious anguish in his chest at the mere idea that she'd found someone better. That she was over him.
He gazed at the photo and still that sense of burning pride for her, the bitterness and the pain that he wasn't there to see it for himself and the knowledge that he didn't have a right to be - he wanted to hate her, but he couldn't stop the sting of pleasure because she was working so hard and getting what she wanted and he was so proud it hurt.
Blair had seen the blast too.
It was gone eleven by the time the show had started winding down - and Toby was still there. He told her he'd got into a great conversation on the topic of Coco Chanel '28 versus '29, and the time had flown by. But Blair was distracted, mind still on the blast. Chuck was going to see it, and she wanted to feel a sense of triumph that she might be able to make him jealous like he had with Raina. That he might think she'd moved on, and she'd show him she didn't need his pity. He didn't need to know that she hadn't.
But the thought that he might not care was a hundred times worse; the thought that it was transparent just how desperate she was, and another kick in the teeth, again, at the mention of her parents. Like Chuck needed another reminder. And she was also aware that hers weren't the only parents - if Evelyn saw this, then she'd no doubt put even more pressure on Chuck. So there'd be even more tension in the Bass household.
"What's wrong?" A smile quirked Toby's mouth as he watched her. "Is now not the time to talk about hemlines?"
She forced a smile back. "No, it's...nothing."
He hesitated for a moment and then raised his phone. "This isn't anything to do with Gossip Girl, is it?" He looked almost sheepish.
Her eyes snapped to his, surprised.
"I did go to Dalton," he admitted. "Although she barely posted anything about our school."
"Do you read her?"
"Not normally," he laughed. "Since I don't know any of the people she blogs about. But I did notice the photo of me just now. I didn't realise talking to you would make me so famous."
"Right," Blair muttered.
He glanced down at the same photo she was looking at. "So should I be expecting an angry call from your parents?"
"No." She breathed out. "My parents are...dead." She fixed a smile on her face to show that it didn't matter. If he even dared pity her -
His eyes widened. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. And then she remembered that his father had only just died - he was the freshly bereaved one. Not her.
"It was a long time ago," she answered, crisp, and after a moment he nodded. She let out a short breath, pulling herself together, and then aimed a more brilliant smile in his direction. Anything to stop talking about parents. "Why don't we get that drink?"
Toby's mouth turned upwards, obliging, as he regarded her for a moment. "C won't mind?" His eyes still shone, but his tone was serious. He was asking her.
Blair only hesitated for a fraction of a second. "He's moved on." She managed not to flinch at the memory of Raina. "And...so have I." So the last part was still a lie, but if she willed it to be true then it would be. It would. She wanted to go back to this nice person who didn't know anything about her past. (And she'd make sure Gossip Girl didn't catch them again so that Evelyn didn't get wind). "Let me just get my bag."
When she got back to the penthouse, the hall lights were dimmed. There was no sound of guitar hero or noisy sex, so Nate and Serena had to be out. She moved into the living room - and he was sitting there. Of course. At the bar with a glass of scotch. Just him. He was propped up idly, his dark hair flawless and his eyes deeper gold than the liquid in front of him. The cut of his cheekbones was smooth and pale as he watched her.
She swallowed and set her bag down.
"Good night?" he drawled.
She tried to ignore his penetrating gaze.
"It was great," she answered stiffly. Defiantly.
"I'm surprised to see you home so soon," he remarked as his eyes flickered to his drink and then back to her, expresionless.
"I'm surprised to see you alone," she shot back. "Did you finally figure out what Raina was up to?"
"You sound disappointed," he murmured in response to the first part of what she'd said. "Raina's back in Chicago." He'd managed to drag up one of her particularly clingy exes and run her out of town. He smirked now, and it was savage. "But if I'd known you were into threesomes, Waldorf, I would've asked her to stay longer." He swallowed his drink as he gazed at her with slanted eyes. "It would've been interesting to see if you could keep up." The idea of Raina anywhere near Blair repulsed him, but he coudn't stop himself pushing for her reaction.
"Don't you mean throw up?" Her eyes flashed now. He couldn't tell if that tremor was anger or revulsion. But she got a hold of herself and turned away. "I'm going to bed."
Something about the words, her rigid tone and the way her face shuttered reminded him of...Bart, he realised. But Blair was nothing like Bart and it wasn't Bart he was thinking of. It was Evelyn. He was doing exactly what Evelyn always did. Blair saw something flicker across his face and it made her still, just for a moment.
His lip twisted under the heat of those brown eyes. He was every inch as bad as Evelyn. "I meant to ask, actually. Toby Lloyd-Davis? Have you decided on a new investor for Waldorf Designs already?"
The mention of her mother's company made her flinch as expected. When all he really wanted to ask was if she liked him, if she'd kissed him. (She did like him, which surprised her and confirmed that she was never going to find anyone she wanted as much as Chuck because Toby was practically perfect; and she hadn't kissed him, because she hadn't been able to. So much for moving on).
She was saved answering when the elevator doors opened and two incredibly inebriated blondes tumbled in.
"Blair! Chuck!" Serena leapt at them - and Nate, who'd been holding her up, stumbled unsteadily with a wide grin on his face.
"Hey-"
"You missed out," Serena informed her best friends. "We did shots. And karaoke."
Oh, God. Not kararoke. Both Chuck and Blair winced at the thought of Nate and Serena's drunken singing. No doubt that bar had been cleared out in seconds.
"Yeah," Nate agreed as he leaned on the side. He gave Chuck a serious look. "Now who's the wild one, huh?"
Chuck sighed. "Still not you."
The blond looked most put out. Then he and Serena glanced between the two of them, and a grin started again. "So...what were you two doing here? Alone?"
"I knew it!" Serena burst in. "You're hooking up again. I knew no one could work that hard. All those study groups," she giggled.
"And meetings," Nate finished. "You've been together the whole time!" They looked at each other, satisfied that they'd worked it out.
"No," Chuck said tartly. "Some of us just have ambition."
Serena smirked and tapped his nose. "And some of us can't stay away from each other."
Blair swiftly moved in to pull at her best friend's arm, and she avoided looking at Chuck. "Come on, S. Let's get you to bed."
"I'm only going to bed," Serena sighed, draping her own long arms over Blair, "If you come with me." She leaned happily into the brunette. "I missed you, B." For a moment Blair let herself bury her face in that blonde hair, under the guise of helping her friend stay upright.
"I miss you too." It was barely audible. Then she yanked at the blonde again. "Come," she instructed. "Shower awaits." Her nose wrinkled a little. "Because you smell like a brewery floor."
"She does," Nate confirmed proudly.
"And so do you," Chuck muttered. "Come on, Archibald."
"They're gonna share a bed too," Serena whispered not-so-subtly in Blair's ear. She tossed a grin at the two boys. "Enjoy!"
Blair rolled her eyes and hauled her away. (Anything was better than looking back at Chuck).
Chuck guided his own drunk best friend away from the bar; Nate went happily enough, only pausing to nudge Chuck's shoulder with his. "You love her, man."
Chuck pushed him in the direction of his room. He was glad it was dark, glad Nate was too drunk to ackowledge the expression on his face - and most of all glad that Blair hadn't heard that.