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Van der Woodsen Apartment

A tea kettle sat in the middle of the round breakfast table, steaming and untouched. Serena had been the mastermind behind that one, thinking that it would be helpful – comforting, maybe - to have while they waited for Chuck to emerge from the bedroom. No one lifted their brimming mugs of chamomile, however, instead remaining quiet and unmoving, waiting silently for Chuck as a battle raged down the hallway behind the closed door of Serena's bedroom.

You don't get to worry about me! I'm nothing to you, remember?

Blair's voice echoed down the marble corridor, broken and full of rage and causing them to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Dan cleared his throat, pursed his lips as he pushed his mug toward the center of the table. "Uh, maybe I should go home. Give you guys some space."

Serena frowned, instantly moving to cover his hand with hers. "Dan, no. You should stay here tonight. It's late."

Nate nodded in agreement. "Yeah, man. There's plenty of room."

Seconds ticked by, marked by the rhythmic clanking of Serena's spoon as she stirred her tea purposelessly. Thoughts were swimming in their minds, unanswered questions tugging at their nerves as the minutes crawled. Quiet sighs made way for louder yawns, their eyes becoming hooded with fatigue.

Get out!

They all straightened in their seats, becoming alert at the sound of Blair's brutal demand. It was followed by a near silence, Blair and Chuck's quiet mumbling muffled by the door and making it impossible for their straining ears to hear what was going on inside.

But then Chuck appeared in the hallway, looking deflated and destroyed, and suddenly they didn't have to wonder anymore. Serena frowned, biting her lip in nervous anticipation as he approached the table. "How is she?"

It would have been predictable for Chuck to have answered with a quick, biting reply; perhaps, though, it was more telling that he merely shook his head, slumping into the empty seat between Nate and Dan with an expression more dark than the one he'd worn following the death of Batholomew Bass. "Tired, I think. She's going to bed."

Chuck was teetering on the edge between rage and sorrow, Nate realized, and he couldn't help wondering which would be a more damning fate. He gripped the mug of tea tightly between his hands, knowing that the pain from the scorching ceramic couldn't even compare to the pain that Blair must be feeling twenty feet away. He cleared his throat, studying Chuck's features. "Well, did she say anything?" Oh course she had. They'd all heard the callous words she'd hurled at Chuck. "About what happened tonight, I mean."

Chuck blew out a jagged breath, swallowing the surge of bile that threatened to emerge from his throat. It was a simple question, really, but the answer enraged him, tore at his soul. He sighed, his fingers gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white at the effort. "He hurt her," he finally uttered, his voice quiet as his eyes narrowed to stare sightlessly at the table. "He took something that wasn't his to take."

And it had nothing to do with the Chloe bag; nothing to do with the necklace.

They were all silent, hearts heavy because no one needed Chuck to clarify.

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Her jaw was set, her palm wrapped around the handle of the hairbrush in a death-grip as she raked the bristles through her long, damp strands. Her eyes were steel-like, fixed and unforgiving as she studied herself in the mirror, critiquing her appearance in a way that only the daughter of Eleanor Waldorf could. She wondered what her mother would think if she could see her now, disheveled and damaged with no one to blame except for herself. She frowned, suspecting that she knew exactly what her mother would think.

This is how Serena found her when she slipped through her bedroom door, Blair's eyes narrowed on her own reflection, her mouth set into a prim frown. It was a common scene from their history, a familiar chapter from the book of their friendship: Blair hiding out in Serena's bedroom, an impromptu sleepover so that Blair could avoid whatever drama was going on in her life at the time. Except this wasn't about a fight with Nate; it wasn't about a painful barb from Eleanor or an embarrassing post on Gossip Girl. It couldn't be fixed with Godiva's Gold Collection and an assortment of Grace Kelly movies.

In fact, Serena suspected that it probably couldn't be fixed at all.

She smiled despite this, hesitant and nervous as she walked into the room. "Chuck said you'd gone to bed already. I thought you'd be asleep."

Blair shrugged, not returning her smile. "I decided to shower first." To wash the smell of him off of her skin, she silently thought; to rid herself of the sticky reminder between her legs that she prayed to God was left over from her earlier encounter with Chuck.

Serena nodded as she walked to her bureau, changing out of her party dress and removing the gold rings from her shaking fingers "I'm tired," she said absently, an attempt to fill the silence. "I can't believe how late it is." She sighed quietly when Blair didn't answer, perching herself on the corner of the bed and studying her best friend's profile.

Blair rolled her eyes in response, turning to look at her pointedly. "What?" she demanded, her eyes steadfast and impatient. "God, I know I look disgusting, but you don't have to stare at me like I have the bubonic plague or something."

Serena frowned, her heart sinking as she shook her head. "You don't look disgusting, B."

"Oh please, I'm a disaster. And this horrible t-shirt certainly doesn't help." She forced out a flippant laugh, making a point of fingering the brown cotton. "Really, S. You should consider transferring to a different college just so you don't have to subject yourself to Brown's heinous apparel. Is this thing made of hemp or something?"

Serena scowled. "Stop being evasive, Blair." But Blair merely puffed in reply, turning away from her with a roll of her eyes, and Serena suspected it was better to drop the subject altogether. "Fine, let's just go to bed, okay?" She yawned and stood up to unfold the duvet, her movements sluggish as fatigue finally got the better of her. She sat on the corner of the mattress, the sheets cool against her thighs as she watched Blair walk across the room, avoiding Serena's gaze as she climbed into the other side of the bed. "Do you think you're going to be able to sleep tonight?"

She stilled at the question, her body stiffening defensively as she turned to face Serena. "Of course," she answered, her voice sounding taut and intolerant. "Why wouldn't I?"

She was baiting her, of course, itching for a fight in typical Blair fashion. Serena shrugged, fidgeting with the hem of her slip. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I thought that you might be upset about tonight-"

"Well, I'm not," Blair snapped, "so just drop it, okay?"

They didn't speak again until they were both safely tucked beneath the covers, Blair positioned on her side to keep her face out of view. Serena shifted in her spot, frowning as she studied the outline of Blair's back. "Good night."

Blair swallowed, trembling against the sudden swell of dread that she felt at the idea of closing her eyes, at the idea of her mind forcing her to visit places she never wanted to experience again. "Night, S," she whispered.

And then Serena flipped off the light, rolling onto her side as she let out a yawn, and an instant wave of panic spread throughout Blair's body. She drew in a breath, forcing her voice steady. "Leave it on, please."

Serena couldn't help noting the small and unsteady sound of Blair's voice, so unlike her best friend that she barely recognized it for what it was. She turned, her forehead furrowed as she angled herself closer. "What, B?"

Lips trembling, Blair blew out an anxious breath. "The light. Can you leave it on?" She sniffed, gripping the covers tightly between her fingers. "Please?"

Serena's face fell as she clicked on the light, mumbling an apology as she frowned helplessly. "Are you okay?

Blair nodded, shrugging off her apologies. "I'm fine." She pushed her face toward the pillow, refusing to meet Serena's gaze as she buried her nose into the silky cotton. "Let's just go to sleep."

And she didn't mention that she actually had no intention of sleeping, no intention of allowing her eyes to flutter closed or her mind to wander into the world of dreams. Instead, she forced herself to breathe evenly, not even trying to stop the tears from leaking from her wide, tired eyes as she waited for the sun to appear.

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