A/N: More anon feedback!

cz: Thanks for your review! I had to Google translate part of it, but it was quite effective ;) Your encouragement is always very appreciated!

pinkcy: I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the story. It's especially encouraging to get positive feedback who has dealt with something like this. Thanks for leaving feedback!

Danielle: Thanks for your sweet comment. I'm glad that you enjoyed the CB interaction at the end of the chapter :)

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Waldorf Apartment

His palm slipped into hers, warm and heavy, as though he had suspected that his support was exactly what she needed. She turned to meet his gaze, only to find that his eyes were trained on the numerical count above the elevator door, each number brightening as the elevator car made the slow crawl toward the Waldorf penthouse.

His fingertips felt soft against the back of her hand, almost gentle, but even the uncharacteristic tenderness couldn't ward off the instinctive stiffening of her spine when his fingers wrapped around hers. She swallowed, forcing a half-hearted smirk. "Growing soft on me, Bass?"

He frowned when he felt her palm grow clammy before she extracted her hand from his, and he shifted his eyes toward her petite frame as she took a small step toward the opposite side of the elevator car. Had circumstances been different, he probably would've delivered a smirk and a sharp barb in response to her inquiry. I'm never soft around you, Waldorf, perhaps. Or maybe, Oh right, I forgot you like it rough. Today, though, he merely shrugged, glancing toward the door as the elevator chimed at their arrival. And he settled for a dose of honesty. "I guess you bring it out in me."

The door slid open to reveal the gleaming marble floor. Blair stepped out first, the clanking of her black pumps echoing in the empty foyer. She allowed her eyes to survey the apartment's entrance, noting that all traces of the previous night's soirée had long since been mopped and scrubbed and polished away.

The apartment was quiet as they walked passed the spiraling staircase and into the living room, no echoing footsteps or familiar voices to be heard. And, Blair noted, no one rushing to greet her, to tell her how worried they were when she didn't come home last night.

Chuck watched her frown, resisting the urge to place his hand against the small of her back. "Maybe they're not home yet," he offered. "Their flight might've been canceled because of the weather."

But then a voice broke through the silence, reverberating from somewhere on the second floor. "Blair, darling? Is that you?"

She turned, giving Chuck a knowing smile. "No one would dare cancel a flight on which Eleanor Waldorf was a passenger. That would be suicide." She walked toward the stairs, pausing at the bottom step. "Yes, Mother. It's me."

It was a few moments before Eleanor appeared before them, swathed in an sapphire original from her very own collection. Her hair was styled into a loose chignon, her makeup pristinely applied. She looked glamorous; elegant. Everything that Blair wanted to be; everything she seemed to fall short of. She inhaled, forcing a smile to her lips. "How was Paris?"

Eleanor beamed in response, descending the stairs at a graceful pace. "It was marvelous. Really, Blair, you should've joined us." Blair smiled, not pointing out the fact that she was never invited. Eleanor's eyes connected with Chuck's, and she offered him a civil greeting as she reached the bottom of the staircase. "Hello, Charles. It's certainly been awhile."

Chuck nodded. "Mrs. Rose. You're looking lovely, as always."

Ever the charmer, Blair thought. She pursed her lips, fighting to reclaim her mother's attention. "Where's Cyrus?"

"He's at the office," Eleanor replied. "Apparently they can't last seven days without-"

And then she stopped speaking as she turned to face her child, her mouth gaping open as she surveyed her daughter's appearance. Her eyes narrowed in surprise as she studied the marks on Blair's face, almost as though it was the first time that she was seeing her since she'd entered the room. And perhaps it was.

Blair's breath hitched at the sudden scrutiny, her cheeks flooding with color. "It looks worse than it is," she defended before her mother had a chance to utter a word, her fingers rising to her face to touch the bruises. To cover them. "Honestly, they'll probably fade within a couple of weeks."

Eleanor shook her head. "Doubtful," she replied absently, her eyes scanning the rest of her daughter's figure. "What on earth happened?"

Blair swallowed, her eyes shifting to Chuck's. A silent plea for him to remain silent. "I was mugged last night."

Eleanor frowned. "I thought that you were having a get-together here?"

"I did," she answered. She hated how her mother could dwell on the most insignificant details. "We went to the Village afterward. To Socialista."

Eleanor shook her head, evidence of her silent disapproval. Blair shifted from one foot to the other, nervous, anticipating her mother's next move. Behind her, she could feel Chuck approach, warm and comforting without even touching her. Just standing. Supporting. "I'm lucky," she added, conjuring an empty smile. "It couldn't been worse."

Eleanor scoffed. "I don't see how," she muttered, shaking her head. She took a step closer, her hand gently running across Blair's cheek. "Darling, this is just awful. Your beautiful face." She sighed, meeting her daughter's eyes. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"No," Blair uttered. She sighed, bracing herself for the onslaught of motherly disparagement. "I was alone."

And there it was, Eleanor's visible displeasure. "Alone? In the middle of the night?" She frowned, patronizing, her eyes becoming a sea of admonishment. "I thought you were smarter than that, Blair. Honestly. You're twenty years old; you should know better." And then she sighed, shaking her head as she forced herself back into the role of concerned mother. "Well, this is just horrific. You must've been terrified."

The tears appeared quickly, swimming in Blair's eyes. She nodded, her lips quivering as she allowed Eleanor to fold her into her arms. "I was," she whispered. The smell of her mother's Yves Saint Laurent fragrance tickled her nose, so familiar, so comforting, that she wished she could get lost in the embrace. She hadn't been held by her mother in years, not like this; a genuine, heartfelt gesture. She sighed, burying her nose into the crevice of Eleanor's shoulder. "I've never been so terrified in my life."

But the moment was over as quickly as it had begun, Eleanor pulling away to hold Blair at an arm's length, surveying her battered face once again. She wiped a fallen tear from her daughter's cheek, frowning. "Well, perhaps next time you'll be wiser about the choices you make," she said, tilting her head as she studied her. She pursed her lips, brushing a strand of hair from Blair's face. "What did the police say?"

Blair frowned, trying not to dwell of the sting caused by her mother's withdrawal of affection. "Nothing really. They're looking into it." Behind her, she felt Chuck stiffen. She knew that if he was going to speak up, now would be the time. She turned her head, her eyes out of Eleanor's view as she shot Chuck a vicious glare. "Right, Chuck?"

He had remained quiet up to this point, standing idly, awkwardly, as Blair and her mother spoke. He wanted to say something now, to tell the truth, but ultimately his alliance was with Blair. Whatever she wanted, he would give her. He met her eyes, his gaze piercing and astute. "That's right," he uttered, but his eyes were narrowed, seemingly shouting, We'll talk about this later.

She returned his stare, challenging. Case closed, Bass, she seemed to say. And she knew she could win this one, because he always caved to her desires when she shot him the look.

But Blair was forced to forfeit their silent battle upon the clearing of Eleanor's throat, her mother's way of regaining control of the conversation. Blair sighed, dropping her eyes and turning to face the Waldorf inquisition. "And the doctor?" her mother pressed, gently running her fingers over Blair's swollen eye. "You did see a physician, I assume? Is there any permanent damage?"

Yes, Blair thought. There's so much. But she didn't volunteer this thought, instead merely shaking her head, giving a slight smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm fine, Mother," she offered. Keep it vague. Keep in concise.

And that answer seemed to satisfy Eleanor Waldorf-Rose, at least for the time being, because when her phone rang moments later, the conversation was dropped. "It's Jenny," she explained, as though that in itself was a reason to abandon the conversation.

She hung up the phone after a brief discussion, and then she was gathering her coat and placing a kiss on Blair's cheek. "I have to go, darling," she explained, wrapping a scarf around her neck. "There's a problem with the Spring fabric swatches." She laughed humorlessly, grabbing her handbag from the foyer table. "There's always a problem to deal with, isn't there?"

Blair sighed, her eyes cast to the floor as she nodded. "I guess."

Eleanor frowned. "Are you going to be alright?"

It didn't matter what the true answer was, Blair knew. She understood what her mother wanted to hear. She smiled forcefully, nodding. "Of course."

Eleanor returned her smile, buttoning her coat to the neck before turning on her heel toward the elevator. "Charles, it was wonderful seeing you again," she called, her pumps clanking against the marble floor as she sauntered toward the apartment's exit. "Honey, I'll probably be home late. Don't wait up."

When her mother vanished behind the closing door of the elevator, Blair frowned, sighing. She felt exhausted, the confrontation leaving her feeling worse than she had before. She turned to Chuck, her eyes heavy. "Sometimes I wish that I could hate her," she uttered.

And he understood that better than she realized. He nodded, no longer able to resist placing a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with that," he replied.

They climbed the stairs to the second floor, Blair trying not to wince as her muscles protested the movement. Chuck held up his arm so that she could press herself against him, letting him support her weight as they completed the remainder of the ascent. "Thanks," she mumbled when they reach the top of the landing, offering him a hint of a smile before disappearing down the hall.

He frowned, following her into her bedroom. "Don't think that we're not going to talk about this, Blair."

She shrugged out of her coat, rolling her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You damn well do," he countered.

"Listen, Chuck-"

"No, Blair; you listen." He blew out a breath, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Stop being so fucking stubborn. You seem to think that if you ignore this, it'll all disappear. You think that you can pretend that this never happened. Well it did-"

"I know that!" she snapped, her eyes full of malice. "Obviously I know it happened. I see him every time I close my eyes, Chuck. I feel him. I smell him. I think he's going to be around every corner I turn. I know it happened!"

His face softened; his shoulders slumped. He blew out a breath, shaking his head. Defeated by the words of Blair Waldorf. "Then I don't understand why you're being so evasive. You have to face this if you want to get over it."

She laughed, bitter. He would say something like that. "That's rich, coming from the boy who used opiates and scotch to forget his father died."

He scowled, wondering if they would ever be able to have a conversation without needing to hurl malicious words at one another. "Well learn from my mistakes, Waldorf."

She groaned, frustrated. Her face was pinched into a frown, her eyes full of tears that she refused to release in front of Chuck Bass. Not today. Not again. "This is not up for discussion."

And then Serena walked into the room, throwing the converation off balance with a hesitant smile. "What's not up for discussion?" she asked, placing her bag on Blair's desk. She stilled, feeling the tension the moment she looked between Chuck and Blair. "What's going on?"

Chuck glared at her, cursing her for choosing that moment to walk into the room. "Blair lied to her mother about what happened last night."

Serena turned to her best friend, her eyes filled with worry and confusion. "B, why-"

"Because this would destroy me!" she interrupted, frustration seeping into her voice. "I don't want everyone talking about this, okay? I don't want this on Gossip Girl; I don't want it in the New York Times." She plopped onto the edge of her bed, allowing her Manolos to fall from her tired feet. "You both know what occurs when horrible things happen to poor little rich girls. It would be all over the news. Everyone would know. I don't want to be the next Elizabeth Smart, the next Natalie Holloway. I don't want that for myself."

Serena frowned. "I get that Blair, I do, but that doesn't mean that you can't go to the police. It doesn't mean you can't get help."

"Just drop it, Serena," she said with a sigh. "Both of you, just leave it alone. Please."

And then she stood from her bed to pull a chemise from her bureau, and in the process, allowing her hand to wrap around a bottle of sleeping pills she'd pilfered from Eleanor's bathroom cabinet the previous summer (as it was, the cabinet resembled a pharmacy, and Blair had known the small bottle would never be missed). "I'm going to take a nap," she announced, turning to face Chuck and Serena.

"Okay." Serena bit her lip tentatively, nodding. "Um, I stopped by the drug store on my way here," she volunteered, pulling a plastic bag from her purse and holding it in Blair's direction.

Blair frowned. "What is it?"

Swallowing, she allowed Blair to take the bag from her hand. "It's the morning after pill."

Blair stilled, her breath hitching. It wasn't something she'd thought about. Not really. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes shifting to Serena's "Thanks," she muttered.

And when she turned to look at Chuck, she had to force herself not to take a step backward. He looked angry, enraged really, and Blair realized that the thought had never occurred to him, either. His face was red, as though his blood was boiling beneath his skin, and his hands were clenched at his sides as he stared at the small plastic bag clutched between Blair's hand. A blessing to undo a curse, perhaps.

Serena placed her hand on his arm, seemingly jolting him from his fury. She smiled at Blair, comforting and supportive. "We'll be downstairs if you need us," she offered.

Blair shook her head. "You don't have to stay," she said. But she didn't mean it; they could all hear the quiver in her voice at the prospect of being alone.

Serena walked toward the door, smiling. "No, I want to. I'm planning to raid your fridge," she said, a transparent excuse. "Hopefully Dorota saved the leftover lobster rolls from last night."

Chuck lingered in the doorway, his eyes connecting with Blair's. He sighed, his hand on the knob. "Are you going to be okay?"

She rolled the pill bottle in her hand, testing it's weight. It's what she needed; a dreamless sleep. She nodded, shrugging. "I'll be fine," she promised.

And so he shut the door, following the path of the hallway until he reached Serena at the bottom of the stairs. Once again, his face was enraged as he shoved his hand into his pocket, extracting his phone.

Serena frowned, allowing herself to lean against the mahogany table in the center of the foyer. "I don't know what to do, Chuck," she sighed, rubbing her pulsating forehead. "I feel like this is out of our league."

He scowled, flipping open his phone. "Don't worry about it; I'm taking care of it."

His comment caused her to still, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Such promises were never good when they came from the likes of Charles Bartholomew Bass "Wait, what do you mean?"

He met her eyes with a fierce gaze, his features dark and full of wrath. "I mean exactly what I said," he uttered, walking toward the elevator as he scrolled through his address book. "I'll take care of it."

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A/N: Ugh, that was a really long chapter for me. I might go fall into a coma now.