Waldorf Apartment

The first time Serena had shown up at the Waldorf penthouse, suitcase in one hand and Eric's fingers wrapped around her other, she had been sure that her best friend was going to explode beneath the burden of her own indignation.

She just left you alone? Blair had asked, her eight year old lips forming a disgruntled frown upon learning that they'd been abandoned in favor of Lily's newest fling. For a stupid boy?!

And after Dorota had scurried off to make three hot chocolates - Extra marshmallows! Blair had bellowed from across her shoulder – she turned to the Van der Woodsen twosome with pursed lips and a determined eye. Well I'll hate her for you, S. No one messes with my best friend without getting on my bad side.

And it was true; for all of her flaws, Blair had always been her greatest defender. It was a well known fact that no one messed with Serena Van der Woodsen without facing the vengeful wrath of Blair Waldorf. Not Georgina, not Amanda, not anyone brave enough (or ignorant enough) to make an attempt at dismantling Serena in any shape or fashion. Now though, years later, it seemed that their roles had been reversed, because it was currently Serena who was feeling vigilant, cracking open the door to Blair's bedroom as her own protectiveness coursed determinedly through her veins.

She was careful to be quiet as she peaked into the room, aware that Blair was exhausted in every way possible. She didn't want to disturb her; she merely needed to put her mind at ease, to see that Blair was fine, that she was sleeping soundly in the bed where they had giggled beneath the covers as ten year old girls, whispering about crushes and celebrities and their plans to be next door neighbors until they turned a hundred and twelve. (We can live in Hollywood! Serena had insisted. No, S, the French Riviera! Blair had countered).

But when she poked her head through the small crack of the door, she found that Blair actually wasn't sleeping soundly in the bed as she'd promised. Instead, the damask duvet cover remained in the same militantly-made state it had been in an hour prior, causing Serena to frown as she pushed her way through the threshold and into the empty bedroom.

She couldn't claim to be surprised at the state in which she found her best friend subsequent to further investigation, although that didn't prevent the heavy feeling of disappointment that pressed against her chest, against her lungs, when she turned the knob of the bathroom door to find Blair in that familiar, compromising position. She was on her knees, an ivory towel cushioning her legs from the cold tile floor below, the lavender monogrammed BCW peaking out from beneath her calves. The corners of Serena's lips turned downward, her hands fidgeting at her sides as her booted steps tapped quietly against the marble floor. "Blair?" she uttered, her voice cracking as she took a breath. "What are you doing?"

It was immediate, the way Blair's shoulders stiffened at the sound of Serena's voice. She didn't move, not even an inch, her elbows remaining propped on the porcelain toilet bowl as her forehead rested against her open palms. She sniffed, shuddering slightly before finally turning to glance at Serena over her shoulder. "It's not what you think."

Blair's eyes were red, her cheeks like a map of the tears that had made trails down her face, leaving behind stains of mascara in their wake. She shook her head, sitting up straighter as she pushed away from the toilet. "I swear, S," she insisted, swallowing against the rise of bile that slowly crept up the tunnel of her throat. "I didn't do it on purpose. I just… I felt...sick."

She closed her eyes then, shutting out Serena's incredulous expression as she wondered how she'd managed to fall so far, so hard, in such a short amount of time. Where would she be, she wondered, if things had turned out differently; what she would be doing if she could take back the previous twenty-four hours, if she could undo every decision that had led her to this point.

Wherever she would be, she knew, she wouldn't be here; she wouldn't be sitting on her bathroom floor, a monstrosity with bruised skin and a battered heart to match, her throat sore from the barrage of her own stomach acids.

Serena's frown deepened as a steady silence filled the room, but she merely nodded at the claim that fell from cracked lips, grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet and soaking it beneath the cool flow of tap water from the sink's faucet. She knelt to the ground, pressing the damp cotton against the back of her best friend's neck. They were quiet as Blair closed her eyes, leaning further against the toilet as water seeped from the washcloth, dripping paths beneath the silk backing of her chemise. "It wasn't on purpose, S," she persisted. "You have to believe me."

And suddenly it was like they were fifteen again, the weight of Blair's denial separating them, like a river betwixt without a bridge to cling to. It was all Serena could do to nod her head, sighing quietly as she allowed herself to sit flat against the floor, her back pressed against the wall so that she could study Blair's guilty expression. She pressed her knees against her chest, her arms automatically wrapping around them, cocooning herself into her own grasp. "I do believe you."

But the uncertainty in her voice hung in the air, shattering Blair's resolve with it's very presence. Blair averted her gaze, her cheeks flushed as she moved to sit beside her, mimicking Serena's position as she pressed her back against the bathroom cabinet. "No you don't," she laughed, humorless as she stared sightlessly ahead of her. They were quiet for several heartbeats, and then Blair was turning toward Serena, a thin film of tears clouding her vision as her shoulders rose in a defeated shrug. "I don't know why I did it," she admitted, finally, her confession nearly muted. "I guess I just... I thought it would make me feel better. Normal, maybe. I don't know; it was stupid." She swallowed, her mumbled explanation dying against the silence. "I 'm sorry."

It was an unwarranted apology, Serena acknowledged, causing her to stretch her hand across the small gap between their bodies, her fingers falling limply over Blair's knee, connecting them. "You don't need to apologize, B. That's ridiculous." Her lips twitched as she caught Blair's eye, a reassuring smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "We're the non-judging breakfast club, right? Think of all the compromising positions you've found me in over the years."

And like a virus, Blair became infected by Serena's smile, her own mouth twitching the slightest bit as she laughed quietly, swiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "That's true, I guess." She smiled, a hint of a smirk gracing her lips. "You were kind of a whore in high school. And middle school, now that I think about it."

Serena scowled, scoffing playfully as she swatted Blair's shoulder. "Okay, let's just leave the past where it belongs," she suggested, rolling her eyes. "The point is, there's no judgment here." She sighed then, sobering as she scooted across the floor, allowing their shoulders to fall together, leaning on one another. "I just want you to be okay, B. I'm here for you. We all are."

There wasn't a doubt in Blair's mind concerning the truth behind Serena's statement. She rested her head against the cabinet behind her, her gaze trained on the ceiling as she nodded. "I know."

Serena sighed. "What can I do? Tell me what I can do to make this better."

And Blair suddenly wished that she could travel backward a decade, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled, shrugging. "Can't we just run away from here like we used to talk about? Go buy our houses on the French Riviera? We can just forget about school and Gossip Girl and everything." She rolled her eyes at the very suggestion she was making, but smiled despite it's absurdity. "We can be the next Thelma and Louise, maybe. Or Laverne and Shirley."

Serena laughed, nodding, transported back in time by the mere mention of Blair's suggestion. "We can be next door neighbors until we old and decrepit."

Blair shook her head, grimacing. "Ew, no. Botox, S," she laughed.

Serena rolled her eyes, pressing through Blair's proposition. "We'll live in Hollywood," she insisted, her lips forming a grin as waves of their ten year old selves washed over her, a flood of memories. "We can be the next Paris and Nicole."

Blair scoffed at that, shooting Serena an incredulous expression as she snorted. "Okay S; you seriously suck at this game."

But she smiled nonetheless, laughing as she let her head fall against Serena's shoulder. "But that sounds amazing," she acknowledged, her eyes hooded with fatigue as she stifled a yawn.

They were still for several heartbeats, silent and relaxed, and then Serena was rising from the floor, grabbing Blair's hands and forcing her to her feet. "Come on, B; you need some sleep." She walked her to the bed, Blair leaning against her before falling into the covers. This time, though, Serena didn't leave her to fight her nightmares alone, instead crawling in beside her, smiling as they rested face to face. Blair returned her smile, her eyes heavy as she allowed herself to relax against the pillow.

And the room was quiet except for the sound of their shallow breathing, their eyes closed against the light filtering through the curtained windows. Serena sighed, the tension draining from her body when she was sure that Blair had fallen asleep.

She was sure of this fact, that is, until Blair shifted beside her, cracking open her eyes and catching Serena's gaze. "S?" she whispered, her brow furrowed as her gaze floated toward the opened bedroom door. "Did Chuck have to leave?"

Serena was quiet for a moment, and then she frowned, hoping for a semblance of nonchalance as she shrugged her shoulders and moved closer to Blair. "He had some business to take care of, I think. I don't really know." It was evasive, perhaps, but not entirely a lie. "He'll come back soon, I'm sure. I doubt it's anything important."

–

Victrola

The bar was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual music that blared from the speakers, absent the semi-disrobed dancers that typically trolled the sullied floors.

It was empty, in fact, less the two men sitting at the bar, with half-consumed glasses of scotch nearly forgotten against the counter top in front of them. They were speaking in hushed voices, whispers that echoed in the large, vacant room, dying a slow death against the lonely concrete walls that surrounded them. "And I'm sure that I don't need to tell you that this needs to be done quietly," Chuck muttered, his eyes trained on the man beside him. Silence ensued, if only for a moment, and Chuck felt his impatience flare.

Beside him, Andrew Tyler finally nodded, his eyes fixed on Chuck's face as a scowl planted itself on the young boy's lips. "I worked for your father for years, Mr. Bass. You know my track record is impeccable." He took a long swallow of his drink, his eyes never wavering from his companion's gaze. "Discretion is not something that needs to be schooled to a private investigator. It goes without saying."

Chuck nodded in response, his grip relaxing slightly from the tumbler resting against palm. He allowed a hand to fall into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a manila envelope and placing it on the table between them. "Half of your fee is in the envelope, as well as the address where the incident occurred." The words were bitter against his tongue, heavy as they fell across his lips. "I can guarantee that, should you produce results that I deem satisfactory, you'll be rewarded above and beyond your typical commission."

Andrew shrugged, finishing the rest of his scotch and resting the empty glass against the bar top. "I don't doubt that, Mr. Bass," he uttered, rising from his stool.

Chuck was quick to react, his hand snaking out to trap the other man against his seat in a fierce grip, his eyes narrowed as he invaded Andrew's personal space, drawing them nose to nose. "I want results, and I want them fast. This is not a game where you pawn them off to the highest bidder. Understand?" He glared, tightening his grip. "This is personal. Failure will not be tolerated." His voice was level as he spoke, but his heart was slamming against his chest, his pulse racing. "Whatever information you find, I'm the only one who sees it. Don't fuck this up, Tyler, or I swear to god, you'll regret it with every fiber of your being."