Author's note: Sorry that took so long to update! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review. :)

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Her Arms Full of Flowers

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She turned away, but with the autumn weather

Compelled my imagination many days,

Many days and many hours:

Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.

And I wonder how they should have been together!

I should have lost a gesture and a pose.

Sometimes these cogitations still amaze

The troubled midnight and the noon's repose.

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T.S. Eliot, La Figlia Che Piange

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"I'm surprised Nate didn't come over last night," said Serena as she swiped a mascara brush across her eyelashes. "I texted him to tell him you were here."

Blair shrugged. She frowned disgustedly at her reflection in the mirror; she looked pale and wan and washed out.

"I need some blush," she muttered, and Serena gestured to the collection of cosmetics in her bathroom drawer.

"Which perfume should I wear today?" asked Serena brightly, glancing over the row of shining perfume bottles on the shelf by the sink. "I'm in the mood for something citrusy. Moschino or Marc Jacobs Daisy?"

Serena had changed tactics since last night; rather than pry and try to wheedle information from Blair about Chuck, her new plan seemed to be to avoid the subject entirely and make Blair as cheerful as possible. She had even curled Blair's hair that morning after her shower.

"I don't do citrus," said Blair demurely, patting her cheeks with rouge.

Serena chuckled. "I know, Blair, you always stick to the same old Chanel. I like scents that are more…fun, and modern."

Blair snorted.

"No, really, which do you like better?' asked Serena, spraying the air with both bottles. Blair jumped back and squealed. She backed out of the bathroom.

"Ugh, Serena," she whined, "thanks to you I'll arrive at school today smelling like a French whorehouse."

Serena laughed. "Tell me which one to wear and I'll stop spraying them around the bathroom."

"Whichever one Dan prefers," said Blair impatiently.

Serena wrinkled her nose. "He can't tell the difference."

"Well, then, it doesn't really matter."

"Yes it does—"

"I'm going into your room to change," said Blair firmly.

"Okay," smiled Serena. "Wear the dress I laid out for you on the bed."

"Alright," said Blair dubiously, and walked down the hall to Serena's bedroom. She rolled her eyes when she saw the loose-fitting tunic dress and leggings Serena had prepared for her.

"I can't believe this," she muttered when she saw herself in the mirror. "I don't appreciate your sadistic sense of humor!" she called out. She heard Serena's silver laugh and then saw her open the bedroom door.

"You look great," Serena giggled, picking up her purse and taking Blair's arm. Her reflection in the mirror next to Blair's was beautiful and fresh and even tanned; Blair stepped away, back towards the door, to avoid the inevitable comparison. She hugged herself self-consciously, looking down at her pale scarecrow arms.

"We're going to be late," she said.

"Let's go, then," said Serena, following her from the room.

Blair grabbed a large pair of Chanel sunglasses on her way out, determined to hide as much of the bruising on her face from sight as possible. She and Serena stepped out into the cold January sunlight, and Blair paused on the doorstop to button up her coat and arrange her scarf.

"Come on, B, or you'll miss French class," said Serena from in front of her, "and Dan will die if you're not there to explain everything to him."

Blair smirked. "Coming," she said, and swiped a few brown curls away from her eyes. As she walked down the steps to the sidewalk something caught her eye; a flash of blue in the gutter.

She walked to the curb and leaned over, lifting her dark-tinted sunglasses to see better; it was a bouquet of now-soiled blue flowers.

Serena had continued down the street, assuming Blair was only a few steps behind her, but she eventually realized that she could not hear footsteps and so she turned around to see her best friend scooping up an armful of blue flowers from the street.

"What are you doing?" she asked in amazement, hurrying back towards Blair.

Blair was smiling and looked flushed. "Aren't they pretty," she murmured, lightly fingering a bruised petal.

"No," said Serena baldly, "and they're dirty. Why—"

"I like them," said Blair decisively, pressing the flowers to her chest, shaking out her hair and marching down the street past Serena. "Come on," she admonished, as Serena still hadn't moved. "Or your boyfriend will be forced to tackle Albert Camus all by himself."

"Tackle who?" Serena asked distractedly, glaring at the flowers that had begun to drip. "Oh, is that a French writer?"

Blair merely rolled her eyes in response.

"Look, please," Serena implored, "just throw them back into the street, you're getting my dress dirty—"

"So what?" Blair shrugged nonchalantly. "It can really only improve it. This will teach you to lend me clothes that are actually presentable and don't make me look like a deadbeat hippie—"

"There's nothing wrong with the dress I gave you," Serena said angrily. "So it's not really your style. As far as I'm concerned that's a good thing! You're so uptight, you never look comfortable in what you wear—"

"I don't want to look comfortable," Blair began to retort, but was cut off by the sound of her blackberry—and Serena's—ringing simultaneously.

"Must be gossip girl," said Blair, rooting around in her purse. She fished out her blackberry and flipped it open.

"Just read it later," Serena said hurriedly, "we're already late. Let's just concentrate on getting to class."

Blair ignored her, holding up her phone to the light to see the photograph on her screen better.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed—"Nate and Chuck got in a fight? Outside your house?"

"Wow, um, that's really—" Serena avoided Blair's gaze. "That's really unfortunate. Anyway, let's hurry up, shall we?"

"Did you know about this?" asked Blair suspiciously, flipping her phone shut.

"No, of course not," Serena stammered unconvincingly.

Blair placed a hand on her hip and glared.

"Ok," Serena conceded, "I witnessed the fight—I didn't want to tell you, you had too much on your mind already."

"What the hell happened?" Blair demanded furiously, stamping her foot.

"I couldn't hear what they were saying," explained Serena, "they both showed up to see you and I guess Nate wasn't expecting to see Chuck, and he sort of jumped on him, and—" she quailed at Blair's expression.

"It only lasted like a minute, alright?" she said in a defensive tone. "And no one got really hurt, and they both left very promptly. And, I'd like to reiterate, you had a lot on your mind last night without this on top of it."

Blair opened her mouth to respond but Serena cut her off.

"Look," she said, "we're at school. Go to class and be mad at me later, okay?"

They had reached the front gates of Constance.

Blair glanced at her watch; they were ten minutes late. She nodded curtly to Serena and ran up the steps and through the front door, and then out the other side into the courtyard; her French classroom was on the other side of the campus. When she was halfway there she noticed a boy sitting on a bench, watching her. Her heart suddenly leapt up into her throat.

Be a good student, she thought, or ditch class to talk to Chuck Bass. Go to French, or find out what happened last night. Maintain your perfect attendance record, or spend an hour with Chuck. She turned around slowly and walked towards the bench; Chuck smiled at her.

He glanced away from her face and saw the blue flowers she held cradled in her arms, and his eyes widened in wonder.

"How did you get my flowers?" he asked incredulously.

"Your flowers?"

"Yes—I went to Serena's house to give them to you."

"And?" Blair prompted breathlessly.

"And I disposed of them after Nathaniel tried to kill me," he said in a sardonic voice.

"Why did he do that?"

"He got the wrong impression—he thinks you and I are sleeping together. That, and he just generally despises me."

Blair sat down on the bench beside him, trying to process all this information. It was too much to take in, and most of it didn't seem to matter, except for one thing.

"You brought me flowers," she repeated in a warm voice.

He turned to stare at her when she said this; and after a moment he smiled.

"They're hyacinths," he said gently, leaning forward hesitantly to wrap his arm around her.

"I know," she said, and leaned down to rest her head against his shoulder.

"Are you cold?" he asked, shifting her closer to him.

"Not right now," she replied.

"We're both missing class," he stated.

"I don't care," said Blair, and the two of them sat still for a long while, both afraid to move or speak.