Part 3

The wind whipped against her, so hard, so fast, and it was obvious that she was on the top of the world. Blair stood at the edge of the rooftop and looked into the horizon to see Bangkok in its full glory. The strip of water cut through an area to her left and she made a mental note to visit the river market the next day, if only for the experience. Maybe Chuck would go with her. It was not too hard to expect that she could come out of this trip with fond memories of the boy, right?

Baiyoke Sky, 8 pm, was the message she had left for him in his motel. There was no need for a restaurant name, or even a room number. She knew, he would know. And he did.

"The rooftop bar," she heard from the stairway. Blair turned on her heel and saw him making his way towards her. "You really want to do this eighty eight stories up?"

She noticed his gaze flicker from her face to the figure she presented in the tight red short dress that Serena had given her for her birthday. Blair had never worn it in Manhattan, because despite how everyone else in her class dressed, she was still conservative at heart and the dress just did not suit her. Ironic then that the first time she was going to put it on, it was in a kingdom far more traditional than her beloved New York. But if she learned anything from her best friend, it was the value of a hidden weapon, and this was one weapon that Chuck Bass had never learned to protect himself from.

"I'm sorry," he said in his soft voice, "did you want to see me, or were you looking to earn some extra cash?"

He stepped in front of her, and Blair frowned. "Stop being crude." It did not escape her how closely he stood now, and as she turned back to the beautiful skyline, he placed his hand on the small of her back—a silent, certain sign to everyone looking that he was with her.

"Stop dressing like a whore."

Her brain flew to the two girls waiting for him in his motel, and how he had flaunted their presence. Whether she would admit to it or not, it was what made her leave. "I thought that's where your tastes ran now."

She tore away her gaze from the city scene and looked up at him. His glare focused on the long drop down to the lit, jam-packed road below. "That jump must be interminable," he murmured. Something in his eyes caused her heart to pump heavily, to slow, then to beat almost audibly in her ears. Unconsciously, her hand rested on his upper arm. Then, Blair placed both of her hands on his wrist, and she pulled him away from the edge. "Don't tell me you have a room here too. Cyrus must be rolling in cash."

"You and I," she started, and cleared her throat at the emotion that rose just by saying the pronouns. She could say that pronoun combination forever, in everything, tagged with any action she wanted to verbalize, if only he would let her. She caught herself. "You and I are going to sit down and eat. We have reservations."

"One drink," he granted her smoothly.

Chuck turned to the rooftop bar, but she caught her arm. "No," she said. "Not in a bar. I don't want to talk to you over this noise." The wind distracted too, and it whipped her hair across her face. She caught her breath when he reached out to catch the wayward lock and push it behind her ear. "We have a table in the Banyan Tree." A cozy atmosphere, traditional Thai dishes, soft mood music. She was determined to create memories. Perhaps in the dark, when she wasn't there, and he drink himself to oblivion or shoot himself up to delirium, fragments of tonight would taunt his mind and make him stop.

He allowed her to pull him down the one flight of stairs that led to the elevators. Blair pressed the floor and then turned to Chuck. When she did, her lips parted when she saw him watching her. Blair reached her hand out, her palm open and her eyes expecting. He looked down at her proffered hand. His own hand fisted. She lowered her hand, then drew a shaky breath.

When they stepped out of the elevator, Blair stepped out and was greeted by a pretty young woman in a traditional silk dress with gold costume jewelry on her ears. Blair looked back and Chuck stepped outside with a leering smile. She wanted to roll her eyes, but it was not effective when you rolled teary ones. Instead, Blair turned back to the hostess and said, "Reservation under Waldorf."

"Let me check that, Miss Waldorf."

His breath was warm in her ear when he said to her, "You do know how bad it looks when the table is reserved under the woman's name." He still smelled like scotch and she hated that he didn't bother to hide that he had something to drink before even taking her up on her invitation.

"Imagine how much worse this would look that we're gonna use my credit card."

He snarled. "Keep your money. I have more than enough to feed you and this entire hotel."

Blair broke into a forced smile when the hostess turned back to them and gestures with a smooth arm towards the table pressed against the floor length ceiling high glass. The view was still spectacular, if a little lower than the rooftop bar. "I invited you," she pointed out. "I'm paying for this."

Chuck waved off the menu that was offered to him, and Blair did the same. "I placed the selection over the phone," she clarified to the waiter.

"Of course, ma'am. So sorry."

Left alone with him at the table, she told Chuck, "You are going to eat. Your stomach lining has probably burned off and your breath is starting to smell."

"So romantic," he murmured. Chuck took a lighter out of his pocket, then drew out a stick and pursed his lips around it.

Blair picked it out of his mouth. "No cigarettes."

"It's not a cigarette," he pointed out.

Blair's eyes widened. "Are you insane?" she hissed. She dropped the stick inside her clutch bag. "You are going to get us arrested. Chuck, please."

He set his jaw. "Fine. I'll behave like the good boy you always wanted me to be." She let out a relieved breath. "Tonight. I'll be a perfect gentleman, good enough to rival Archibald, or Lord Fauntleroy," he drawled, still using ridiculous names for Marcus, "but you have to agree to leave me alone afterwards."

Blair met his gaze with her own hurt look. "I can't leave you alone when you're like this."

"You are not—"

"I'm not," she interrupted. If he said it one more time, she was going to scream. She knew it. She didn't have a right to demand anything. She was nothing to him. But he was everything. To her. "But even casual acquaintances care enough that she wouldn't want you to spiral."

The waiter arrived with an aromatic plate of saffron rice, and Blair breathed in deep. She hastily dabbed a napkin under her eyes, careful not to ruin her makeup. The man placed a two covered bowls in front of them, then two glasses of water. Chuck arched his brow at her at the sight of the clear liquid. The waiter bowed, then left. "Water then," Chuck agreed. "And then you're on the first flight back."

Blair did not answer. Instead, she took off the covers of the bowls and picked one of the viands up, then held it under his nose. "Smell that."

Chuck looked at her from under hooded eyes. "Stop."

She narrowed her eyes. "Smell it." And he did. His stomach rumbled. "It's chicken and vegetable in some spicy paste."

"You don't know what it's called?" he asked.

Blair shrugged her shoulders, then speared one piece of chicken and popped it in her mouth. As she chewed, she nodded. "I just told them to bring us their bestsellers enough for two. It's good." Chuck looked down suspiciously at the food. He inspected the other dish. He piled on the saffron rice onto his plate. When he looked up, Blair had meat speared on her fork as she held it to him.

He looked at her with scorn. "I'm not going to eat off your fork."

Blair demanded, "Why not? I am arguably cleaner than you are."

At her challenge, he curled his lips, then took the meat in his mouth and chewed. She smiled in pleasure, "So?"

He nodded. "Good."

"I told you!"

Chuck took the glass of water in his hand, then raised it to his lips. Blair smiled up at him and urged him to eat. When he did, she watched as the food dwindled on his plate, then served him more. She reached for the chicken, and he caught her wrist. She looked up at him.

"Going home is out of the question," he said. "Do you understand that?" Slowly, she nodded. "Then what do you want from me?"

She leaned her head to the side as she regarded him. Blair pulled her hand away, then put down her utensils. She took her napkin and dabbed at her lips. "I want—"

"Make it realistic, so I can give it to you, and you can go back to New York."

Blair licked her lips. "I want—" She shook her head. "I don't want," she emphasized, "to lose you."

He leaned close, over the table. "You think you ever had me?"

She was not going to cry this time. "You'd be lying if you said I didn't."

Chuck leaned back in his chair and regarded her. And then, his stance relaxed, and he ate. When they finished their meal, Blair took out her platinum card and placed it on the black leather bill jacket without checking the bill.

When they rose, she said, "Come back with me."

"No," he said.

"I know," she breathed. He stood behind her now, and his hand brushed against her arm as he helped her up. "I know you don't want to go home. But come back with me to my hotel."

His hand closed over her upper arm, and the warmth of his palm contrasted with the coldness of her skin. "I'd love to—"

"Great."

"But I can't."

She turned around in the circle of his arms, and looked up at him, puzzled. "No strings, Chuck. I'm not gonna bring up New York," she promised.

He ran his fingers from her chin, to her cheek, and she turned her lips to brush a kiss against his hand. "I'm busy tonight."

"What?"

He nodded towards the hostess, waiting at the restaurant door. "I have something to hunt."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and Blair's eyes clouded. "Chuck," she protested.

"You've gotta go home. You're not cut out for this," he stressed. He leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, and a tear dropped to her cheek.

"You're making it so hard," she whispered into his ear before he straightened.

"I'm making it so easy, Blair," he argued. "You're making it difficult on both of us."

"Be careful. I can only take so much." She turned and walked away, careful to keep her eyes away from the hostess, training her gaze on the elevator. She did not need to remember her features, her body type, her hair or her complexion. She did not need fodder for her nightmares.

All these women, they were nothing to him. Nothing at all.

We both know I'm your one and only.