A/N: I normally don't update this consistently and fast! I originally wrote this in Blair's POV but later went back and re-wrote the entire thing from Chuck's POV, I feel like I need to give him a little bit of a voice in these things. Thanks to everyone who has favorited, alerted and reviewed. Review more please if you have some time! I'm seriously addicted (:

The city of lights for the city of dreams.

She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with her drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink
- Florence and the Machine

Chuck glanced down the empty hall, his eyes cast on the shadows emerging from Blair's bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

She hadn't been in class for almost two weeks, Eleanor was still traipsing through Europe and, quite frankly, he was getting tired of Dorota's broken English and cryptic excuses every time he called.

It was the reason for which Chuck had called the limo to pick him up at two o'clock in the afternoon. It was also why Madame Weston (how clearly French of her) had attempted to give him detention when he stood up, merely to leave. Of course he was quite in the middle of a very riveting Francis langue's lesson after all, that was no more important than the bottom of his shoe.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

He crept closer to Blair's bedroom, to her - if only she had seen his spectacle, her brown eyes wide in shock. The classic rebellions of a Bass man. Then again, if she had, no reason would suffice enough to cause such a commotion in the first place.

He couldn't remember her missing this much school since her parents divorce, and of course her brief stint with chicken pox (of which no other six year old in the world lobbied to actually stay in school with.)

When Chuck was close enough, obscured not by dry wall or closed doors, the scene was startling but not unexpected. The curtains were drawn, and without the mid-afternoon sun, the room was lit sparsely by her television screen. DVD cases were strewn about the floor as well as empty chip bags and chocolate foils; he prayed she hadn't been doing what such a mess implied.

"You can't hide away forever," He said, leaning against the doorframe.

There was a beat or two of silence. "I can try," She finally responded.

"You could," He agreed, tilting his head, "But I know you won't."

Daniel Humphrey was of second rate, his sister if not less. Jenny could steal the crown but she didn't have the muscle to hold it up, the right. It wouldn't be hot in her hands and subject to her greasy head of unkempt hair for much longer.

"Do you?" She sighed, rolling around beneath her thick blankets.

Of course he did. Chuck knew this wasn't her. Blair was Parisian beauty, the scent of freshly cut flowers and silky skin, but she wasn't this. Crown or not, minions or just her, she would always truly be queen.

He squinted, sidestepping the cases and plastic bags, making his way into her presence, barely able to see her form in the darkness.

"I do," He sat down at the edge of her bed. It was a soft whisper, a light touch as his finger trailed up the mattress, pulling the blankets away from her body.

Blair pushed her curls away from her face, staring up at him. How he wanted to kiss those lips, steal away all her insecurities with one glance.

"If Jenny wants it then she can have it," Blair stated. "The crown, Penelope, Nelli-Yuki -- their not worth having."

He quirked his lips. Sometimes he thought she might pretend he didn't know her as well as he did. To Blair, although he didn't quite understand it, being queen of Constance was the way in which she controlled her life. Eleanor and Harold were always urging her to be more, to be better and obviously (as revealed by her bulimia) Blair thought she was just subject to their opinions, their needs and wants but not her own.

To her, ruling the Upper East Side was the simplistic way of exerting effort into a reputation she'd built on her own. In having complete control. She wanted it, yearned to be loved and hated, she would rather chew nails than see little J steal away with all she'd worked for.

"Blair," He brought his hand to her chin, "What exactly do you take me for?"

She mumbled something and then laughed. Chuck was interested. "A motherchucker," She admitted.

It wasn't the worst he had been called by any length but he didn't know whether he should be flattered or mildly insulted at her PG play on words.

"I made it up," She explained, "Just now, don't you like it?" Her eyes drifted towards the television. He didn't have to look to know that it was one of Audrey Hepburn's earlier movies. If Blair had taught nothing else, Nate and Chuck would always be able to tell what Hepburn movie was playing by the first second and a half of the opening credits.

"Obviously," He frowned. If it took this to make her laugh, to see that smile, he would allow it. However, it wouldn't stop him from playing the insulted and upset card.

She swatted at his arm, almost knocking over a pitcher of water on her nightstand. He grabbed the handle just in time to steady it.

"Oh Chuck," She grinned, "I'm only joking." Blair pulled him into her, curling her hand around his head. He pressed his lips against hers softly. She tasted of cheetos and expensive dark chocolate; it was then that he knew she'd been frequenting the bathroom. His jaw set.

"You need to fight for it," He said. "You're the rightful queen Blair. Don't tell me that you're willing to let little J take over the empire."

"Would you want me any less," She asked, the edges of her words brittle, "If I was?"

"No," He laid down beside her, peeling off his shoes. "But I know you're not."

She raked her fingernails through his hair, he closed his eyes. He would never admit it, but he loved the feeling of her tiny frame pressed against his chest, as close as she could be. He could protect her here, need her and she would return his affection with everything she had.

"I can't just buy back public favor," She sighed. "My legacy has been ruined by my own hands."

Blair always projected strength, indifference, a breed of bitchiness hardly seen past Madison Avenue, but it frightened Chuck to think of how fragile she truly was, beneath the weathered skin of her hardships, craving the acceptance her mother had never quite given her.

It was this woman he worried for, the one curled in a ball, her long legs wrapped in her thin arms. The rose colored negligee crumpled at her thigh. He couldn't say it, he didn't want to upset her, cause a wrinkle in her brow, but he wished he could.

For the first time in his life, Chuck Bass cared enough about one girl in this world to be sick with her troubles. Her interests had started to overshadow his own. He wanted to whisk her away, give her something else to think of aside from the empty spaces between caught moments. "Would you consider something?" He asked.

She looked into his eyes, her cheeks pink around the edges. He felt her stretch, her muscles elongating as she unfurled her body. "What?"

He treaded on a half-formed thought, "Let's go."

"Chuck," She groaned, throwing her hands above her head, "I don't want to go to your suite right now. I'm perfectly happy here."

He shook his head. Manhattan, with Constance Billiard and Nate Archibald was the last place he'd think to chain her too. "I mean, lets get away" He breathed, his arm sliding around her hip, "To Paris ... together."

It was the only thing he could think of. Maybe if she had time away then the stress would swirl down the drain. She could come back, ready and willing to overthrow the provisional queen and take her rightful place.

"When?"

"Now," He breathed into her shoulder blades. She pulled back, pearly teeth behind ruby lips.

"Seriously?" She laughed. "We can't just go ... can we?" The idea seemed foreign to her. As if she couldn't imagine going anywhere with him, like he would withdrawal the idea from beneath her feet without so much as an explanation.

Three months ago he might have but now .... his heart beat faster at the thought of having her all to himself for a few days. Blair made him more of a man than his father could have taught him to be, than he ever dreamed he could be.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "I chartered a flight a couple of hours ago."

Blair shot up, stumbling to her feet. She hurled a pillow at him. "You planned this?" Her tone edging on hysteria. He thought she would be surprised but not abusive, if there was one place in the world she needed - it was Paris. The city of love.

"Not entirely. Why, you don't want to go?" He propped himself on his elbow.

She pulled at her necklace, moving the diamond along it's chain. Her brunette curls hung around her neck in clumps and the negligee had dropped across her thighs. She was beautiful.

"Paris?" She bit her lip, "With you? But I'm not packed," She quirked her lips.

"Is that a yes?"

She flung herself onto him, peppering his face in kisses. "Yes, I'll go with you Chuck." She laughed again, the lightness falling around them in mounds. "But I have to pack so ... you're kicked out," She talked into his lips, "For the time being."