He might have gotten an hour or two of sleep, but instead his alarm wakes him from a restless slumber. The nauseous feeling that is turning and swirling in his gut is the first thing that he notices. The pounding head-ache comes to his attention next.
The fail-safe hang over cure is blended within minutes, the familiar ritual complete with a wince at the screeching sound of the blender. He follows plain routine; down the drink, aspirin, shower, get dressed.
As he stands in front of the mirror tying his paisley tie, he spots something that only increases the uneasy feeling in his gut. A red and blue-ish mark partially hidden underneath the collar of his shirt.
He shakes his head to rid himself of the unwanted memories that come rushing back, but as he does the realization dawns on him.
They are back.
Fluttering.
And they have got to be murdered.
She doesn't make it downstairs until it's almost noon. When she finds her mother and Cyrus in the dining room, having brunch, she instantly regrets her decision to venture down. Though, she could really use some orange juice to quench her thirst. And cure her hang-over. She is really starting to feel that her new friend Dom Perignon is out to get her, even though he proved to be of great help last night when she returned home.
"Blair! How lovely of you to come and join us!" Cyrus exclaims as she enters the room, his greeting eliciting an indignant huff from his wife. Eleanor doesn't grant her daughter with a glance, and the standoffish behaviour from her reminds Blair of her rather…theatrical performance last night.
"Good morning." She offers Cyrus a weak smile, and takes her place on one of the empty chairs. She then breathes a sigh of relief Dorota when the maid immediately places a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in front of her.
"More like 'good afternoon', wouldn't you say, dear?" Cyrus chuckles, buttering a croissant. "Well, we are all allowed to sleep in every now and then, aren't we?"
She doesn't reply and a heavy silence settles around the table. Eleanor is ignoring her daughter all together, browsing through the morning paper with a scowl etching her features.
She is slowly sipping her juice - and waiting for the unsettling feeling in her gut to go away - as it hits her.
Butterflies.
Fluttering.
No. No, no, no!
A while later the three of them are finishing off their food. She has begun to realize that she has something else to deal with before carrying on with her mission to murder the nasty creatures pestering her insides.
Her mother is obviously displeased and most likely expecting an apology.
"Mother?" Her voice sounds weak even to her, and she curses herself internally before continuing, "I am sorry about last night, it wasn't my intention to cause a scene."
Eleanor merely huffs in response at first, but then lowers the paper and looks at her as she continues.
"Thinking before acting has never been a strong trait of yours." Her mother admonishes "You really need to let go of those childish antics, Blair."
"I will." She agrees resignedly. "I am really sorry."
Seemingly pleased with her apology, Eleanor then excuses herself, and Blair finds herself alone with Cyrus. He reaches out and places his hand on hers, offering her a comforting smile.
"Being passionate about things isn't necessarily the same as behaving childishly." Cyrus offers, and she is instantly filled with affection for the man she has come to think of as her step-father. Despite his overly affectionate outbursts and ridiculous ties, he isn't all that bad.
"I never thanked you for Paris." She replies, changing the subject all together. The combination passion and Chuck Bass is not something that she is interested in lingering on.
Cyrus merely looks back at her with a confused frown on his face.
"For getting me out of that horrid jail cell?"
"No love, that wasn't my doing, I'm afraid." Cyrus replies with an apologetic smile, as he swallows the last of his coffee.
"That was all thanks to young Mr. Bass. He works fast…and he has a good heart, that one - if I am allowed to say so - even though he hides it well at times."
It is like he has opened a can of worms.
He can feel her on his skin, the smell of her perfume and that which is only her seems to have permanently invaded his nostrils and his mind.
He can still taste her on the tip of his tongue, and it is leaving him with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.
This is bad, Bass. Really fucking bad.
Why on earth would he help her?
Pacing around her bedroom she tries to rationalize it all to hell. Tries to come up with a plausible explanation as to why he would even do as much as raise an eyebrow at the news of her…predicament. But she can't seem to focus on anything other than the jittery fluttering that is pricking and poking at her insides.
After several minutes of frantic pacing, she realizes that there is only one way to find out. To her dismay the thought sends them whirling, and a series of images pass through her mind.
This is bad.
There is time for nothing but a static buzzing from the intercom before she walks through the door, clearly not interested in waiting to be granted permission to enter.
The mere sight of her standing in the door causes the unmentionable creatures inside of him to go into a frenzy.
He swallows hard in a useless attempt to rid himself of the lump that is forming in his throat, and curses inwardly for being such a spineless coward.
So there might be some kind of physical attraction still harboured in his system. Their chemistry has always been undeniable, no point in denying it now. It used to amaze him - he thinks - the feelings that she provoked in him. He would have followed her to the moon and back.
So his physical reaction might be somewhat similar - he will give her that - but there is a huge difference in the feelings that it brings with it nowadays.
Now it hurts.
Realizing that he is probably coming off as a fool, he forces himself to meet her gaze.
She is wearing a bright red trench coat and her dark curls are falling freely around her face. Crossing her arms across her chest, she examines him haughtily, and he has to force himself not to look away.
"Waldorf." He greets her coldly, and realizes that it is the first time he has called her by name – be it first or last - since she returned.
"Bass."
He returns his attention to the papers on his desk, feigning disinterest as he waits for her to make the next move.
He can feel her eyes on him, and it has those darned things moving so violently he can feel a shiver running down his spine. He is about to surrender, and ask her what the hell she is doing there, when she beats him to it.
"Why did you help me out in Paris?"
"What are you referring to?" He forces a good amount of indifference into his voice, casually browsing through some papers.
Meanwhile his heart is racing a mile a minute as he tries to come up with a believable explanation. One that doesn't come too close to the truth.
Or preferably avoids the truth all together.
"You had your precious attorneys getting me out of jail." She snaps, but he can hear the hurt in her voice from the memory.
"Contrary what you would like to believe, I am not a total monster." He retorts. "I was there, made some calls. So what?"
"But why?"
"I just did, alright? Fuck, had I known you would throw a fit about it, I would have left you there to rot." He snaps back, amazed by how impossible it seems for him to keep his normal cool around her these days.
"Since when do you 'just do' something nice to me?" Is the quick comeback, and she frowns in confusion.
"Would you drop it?" He spits. "It is no big deal, I made a few calls. You weren't supposed to be there in the first place…"
He realizes his Freudian slip the moment the words leave his lips, and her eyes widen with suspicion.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, would you just drop it?"
"That was not 'nothing'," She objects, walking closer to where he is standing. "You…"
"I tipped off the police, okay?"
"You what? Her voice rises to a screech, "You were behind the whole thing? What? Why? You sick son of a…"
"I told you! You weren't supposed to be there!" He bites back. "I can't believe you went back to him…did you find a soul mate in his cheating ways?"
tbc