FINALLY! I apologize for the delay. I'm back at school and it's a busy semester. I'm going to do my best to update once a week, but it may turn in to once every 10 days or so. We'll see. But I WIL update, promise!

Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing. There have been a lot of new faces reviewing lately, so thank you! And of course, immense thanks to those who have been reading all along, both this and my other story, Spiraling. Love to all of you!

THINGS I OWN: A pink planner that contains ('controls' might be a better word) my life. THINGS I DON'T OWN: Gossip Girl

Blair stirred the drink Chuck had made her as she leaned against the suite's bar, but didn't take so much as a sip. She was too agitated to drink, too riled up by the reappearance of Serena van der Woodsen – the same Serena van der Woodsen who thought she could just show up at her penthouse after pulling a disappearing act worthy of David Copperfield – to consider drinking it.

"You do realize you're wasting whiskey that costs $2,000 a bottle?" Chuck asked from his spot on the couch. He turned up his own drink.

"I don't recall asking for a drink in the first place," Blair snapped. She avoided Chuck's eyes. He had been peering at her as though he knew something she didn't since they had arrived in the suite thirty minutes earlier. Or as though he could see through her. Either thought made her uncomfortable.

"You really are a terrible guest, you know that? I'm trying to be the gracious host and you're making it rather difficult."

"I'm sorry," Blair said with a sigh. She forced herself to look at Chuck. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "I was counting on a Gossip Girl blast to alert me of her return, if and when it happened, so I could be ready."

"You don't take surprises well," Chuck observed. Blair shook her head.

"No," she agreed. "In my experience, surprises tend to end badly."

"So Prince Nate doesn't shower you with romantic surprises?" he continued.

"Aside from the occasional bouquet of roses that he thinks are my favorite? No. Even if I did like surprises, Nate isn't the romantic surprise type."

Chuck watched as Blair let her mind wander to somewhere miles away. He wanted to know what she was thinking. He wanted to replace the sad expression on her face with her beautiful smile. He wasn't sure where those thoughts were coming from, but he didn't believe a face so beautiful should be marred by the sadness he saw there. He found himself on his feet, crossing the suite to lean on the opposite side of his bar.

"What are your favorite flowers?" he heard himself inquiring. It was as though his body moved on autopilot without any regard to what he actually wanted it to do. His mouth seemed to subscribe to the same philosophy.

"Peonies," Blair answered with a small smile. "Pink ones." Chuck nodded. It was fitting that Blair would prefer peonies to roses or tulips or daisies. Peonies were more – refined, perhaps. More appropriate for a queen.

"Peonies," Chuck repeated. "The flower symbol of a happy life." Blair looked at him with a curious expression.

"How did you, of all people, know that?" she wanted to know. Chuck shrugged.

"I tried to impress a woman once," he admitted, unable to look Blair in the eye at the embarrassing claim. "She was my third grade teacher and apparently immune to the Bass charm." Despite her mood, Blair's smile broadened as she tried to picture a young Chuck Bass offering up a bouquet of flowers to the object of his affection who likely took the flowers, petted him on the head, and told her husband all about the sweet little boy who brought her flowers over their dinner that night.

"I've read that they mean a happy life," she agreed. "Wealth, prosperity, good fortune. But I've also read that they mean shameful. Which, if that's the case, as many peonies as I've seen at weddings, I can't help but wonder what the bride has to hide." Chuck laughed.

"You really don't get enough credit for your wit," he said again.

"And I still think you get too much credit for being Chuck Bass," Blair retorted once more, but this time with a small smile. She started wandering around the suite, looking for personal artifacts, something that would give her a clue as to what part of Chuck Bass she hadn't been able to figure out yet. She could feel his eyes on her as she moved.

There wasn't much to see. From what she could tell, everything was hotel standard, be it a luxurious standard. With the exception of a stray article of clothing and a scarf she had seen him wear several times thrown over the back of the couch, there was nothing that seemed to truly belong to Chuck Bass. Just as she thought she was wrapping up her search, a photograph on the nightstand caught her eye.

"How about I fix you something different to drink?" Chuck asked suddenly.

"I'm fine," Blair replied, making her way to his bedside.

"Are you sure? Maybe you want something to eat?" Blair glanced over her shoulder at him. He looked almost nervous. That was one word she didn't think would ever be associated with him. He was always so confident, so cocky.

"I'm fine," she said again, turning away. She picked up the photograph and studied it.

It was an old snapshot. She could tell by the clothing, designer though it was, and the fading colors. It was of a beautiful woman, walking in Central Park on a snowy day. She was pregnant, Blair realized, radiant as she basked in the glow of a woman awaiting her baby's arrival. Her hair was quite dark, thick and curled around her shoulders. Her hand rested happily on her protruding stomach. It was the woman's eyes though, almond-shaped and dark, that identified her.

"This is your mom," Blair stated. She remembered Chuck's reaction at her mother's party when the subject had came up and decided to tread lightly.

"Yeah," Chuck said gruffly. He busied himself with pouring another drink.

"She was beautiful," Blair said. She took one more look at the photo and placed it back on the nightstand.

"She was," Chuck agreed. Blair turned back to him in time to see him toss back the drink he had poured. A piece of what she was missing fell into place. Whatever had happened to Chuck's mother had something to do with why he acted as he did. But the missing piece served only to uncover more unknowns in the mystery of Chuck Bass. Blair didn't know why she cared so much.

"How long?" she asked, sliding onto one of the barstools across from Chuck.

"Stay however long you'd like," Chuck replied, leaning on the bar once more. "And if you change your mind about seeing my freckle..." Blair made a face.

"I was referring to how long your mother has been gone," she informed him. She watched the same look of nerves fall over Chuck again.

"16 years," he answered softly. Blair was quick on the math.

"You were an infant," she stated. Chuck nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I was."

A heavy silence fell between them. Blair knew not to press him further. She watched him play with the empty tumbler in his hand, swirling the ice around the bottom of it. He watched the ice spin, fighting back emotions talking about his mother always managed to dredge up and the thoughts that came with them.

"Why is Serena back?" Blair asked, breaking the silence. Chuck was glad for the change of topic. He put the glass down and looked at her.

"Because I would be the first person who knew the answer to that," he replied.

"It was a rhetorical question," Blair said. "She didn't come back when my parents divorced or when my dad moved away. She didn't come back when..." She stopped herself. "Well, the point is, she didn't come back when I needed her to. When anyone needed to. She has no right to come back now and mess everything up again."

"Maybe she didn't know your parents divorced or your dad moved away." He looked at her. "Maybe she doesn't know that you visit the Ostroff Center nearly every day." Blair's jaw fell slack as she stared at him. How did he know? No one did. Even Gossip Girl hadn't found out.

"How... How did you... What are you implying?" she sputtered.

"I'm Chuck Bass," Chuck said. "And I know everything. I know your mother was aware of your father's sexual preferences years before he admitted it. I know he had rip roaring affair with a French model and took off for France to live with him. And I know you visit the Ostroff Center either before or after school nearly every day and at least once on the weekends. Seeing as you accepted my ride home this afternoon and are now here, I'm guessing you made your visit this morning. The one thing I don't know – at least not yet – is why."

"How?" Blair asked again. "How do you know – anything?"

"I do my homework," he told her. "Just not the kind assigned in history class. Come on Blair, you of all people should understand that there was no way I was going to show up on the Upper East Side and not get the dirt on my counterparts."

It hit Blair then. If she was the queen on the Upper East Side, then Chuck Bass was aiming to be king. The title meant little to him, but the implications behind it were dangerous. Chuck had a power none of the rest of them had – or rather, a lack of something she and her counterparts had had ingrained in them since birth. He didn't care what anyone else thought of him while she and everyone else on the Upper East Side cared too much. He hadn't grown up with the pressures that came with the Upper East Side the way the rest of them had.

"My reasons for going there are personal," she told him. "Not even Nate knows and it will stay that way, do we understand each other?"

"For now," Chuck reasoned. "But back to my question – if I had to guess, I would say your under the radar visits are to treat your eating disorder."

For the second time in under five minutes, Blair was shocked into silence. There were two things about her that absolutely no one knew – that she visited the Ostroff Center almost daily and that she had an eating disorder. She was sure people – Dorota and Serena at least – suspected the bulimia but it was never mentioned. She had barely admitted it to herself. Yet Chuck Bass knew about both.

"I don't have an eating disorder," she stated with a slight quiver in her voice.

"Please," Chuck scoffed. "That's the one thing about you I found out without any digging. I may cut class and pay a grad student to write my papers, but I'm not dumb, Blair."

"Now isn't that the really the question here? Your intelligence level?" she replied, trying to deflect.

"Pretend all you want, but that doesn't make it any less true."

"You don't know me, Chuck, despite all the 'digging' you may have done."

"I know you better than you think I do."

They stared at one another. It scared them both, how true that statement might be. This time, it was Chuck who broke the silence.

"I can help you figure out what she's up to," he said.

"How?" Blair wanted to know.

"How is irrelevant. Do you want my services or not?" Blair studied him.

"What's the price?" she asked cautiously. She hadn't known Chuck long, but she knew not to agree to anything before finding out the stipulations. She watched as Chuck thought about what he was going to offer.

"Have dinner with me," he finally said. "Not tonight. Another night. Before the Kiss On The Lips party, to be exact."

"I have a boyfriend," Blair reminded him. "And I'm the host. I can't go off on faux dinner dates before the party."

"It's dinner, Blair, not a date. I don't date. And you aren't fooling anyone – you are planning to make a grand entrance at this party, which includes being fashionably late."

"Why are you offering to help me?" Blair pressed.

"Because you need help and there's nothing I like more than a scandal," he answered.

"The only way I'm agreeing to this is if you have information for me before the Kiss On The Lips party," she informed him. She was sure there was no way he would be able to find out in three days why Serena was back and where she had been. She had been searching for months and had came up with nothing.

"Done," Chuck said, extending his hand.

"Done," Blair replied, taking his hand. She ignored how her hand fit perfectly in his.

"Now are you going to tell me why you go to the Ostroff Center or am I going to have to find that out for myself too?" Chuck asked as he let go of her hand and stuffed his in his pockets. "Because I will."

"Are you going to tell me what happened to your mother?" she countered. "Or will I have to ask Bart? He did tell my mother I was a 'charming young lady.' I'm sure I could get it out of him." She watched Chuck once again turn inward, thinking, his eyes downcast. She noticed that he toyed with his lip as he thought, biting it between his teeth and releasing it only to purse his lips together. Then he looked up at her.

"She died giving birth to me," he said quietly. "It's not something we talk about in my family. Or lack thereof."

Blair looked at him and saw the sadness in his features. Her heart went out to him. Her mother was intolerable sometimes, but at least she still had one. And she had Dorota. She had already noted that Chuck's relationship with his father was strained. She wondered if he had anyone else. She slid off her stool and walked around the bar to his side. He tensed up at her presence. He hated sympathy.

"I am sorry, Chuck," she told him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"It was a long time ago," he said gruffly, shaking off her hand and walking a couple of steps away from her. He fixed yet another drink. He looked at her. "Your turn." Blair took a deep breath. She had forgotten her end of the deal.

"This stays in this room," she told him. "Between you and I and no one else. Not even Nate knows."

"I'm a vault," Chuck agreed. "Though you should be able to tell your boyfriend things like this."

"I'm trusting you, Chuck, don't make me regret it."

"Spill, Waldorf. I can feel my five o'clock shadow growing as we speak." Blair rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Remember me mentioning Serena's brother, Eric?" Chuck nodded.

"The one who 'visiting relatives in Florida' despite the whole school being in session thing, yeah."

"Well, he's not."

"Imagine that," Chuck said in a dull voice. "The number of people who actually buy that story astounds me. And they pay all that money for private schools..." Blair ignored him.

"He tried to kill himself, not long after Serena left. His life – it's been less than stable. I guess it finally became too much." Blair played with a bottle cap lying out on the bar top. Chuck watched her.

"You go visit your best friend's brother in a mental institution every day," he stated, still studying her.

"Not every day," she reminded him. "Sometimes I can't go because of school or another obligation. And I don't go on Sundays. Lily visits him then. And Serena is no longer my best friend."

Chuck was struck by Blair's kindness. She was just as much a mystery to him as he was to her. He was starting to realize the picture of Blair Waldorf everyone else had – the hoity queen who's bad side one did not want to find themselves on – was only a part of who she was. It was the only part she let anyone else see however. He doubted anyone would believe him if he told them she had a kind bone in her body.

"Blair, that's really..." Chuck searched for the word, "nice." Blair raised an eyebrow.

"That sounded so strange coming off of your tongue," she told him.

"I'm obligated to say one nice thing a year," he replied. "That was it." Blair quirked a small half smile. "His mom only visits him on Sundays?" Chuck wanted to know.

"Every Sunday, religiously. Sometimes she slips in for a visit during the week or stops to say hi after she's met with his doctor, but she has to 'keep up appearances.' How would it look if the woman who either heads up or is a member of nearly every committee for every charity event and gala on the Upper East Side was seen going in and out of the Ostroff Center?"

"Like she gives a damn," Chuck muttered. He liked that his father was getting involved with this woman even less. He knew for a fact Bart had met Lily a few times for lunch or coffee since the Waldorf party. He was less than thrilled. Usually Bart's women of choice were young, limber and came with a high by the hour rate. The fact that he was taken by Lily, a woman of comparable age with two kids and a host of failed marriages was enough to send up a red flag in Chuck's mind.

"That's the thing with Lily. She really does give a damn. She is a good mother. She just hasn't figured out how to balance everything else," Blair said. Despite her recent differences with Lily, she had always been fond of her. She believed what she was saying even though she could tell Chuck did not.

"If she's such a good mother, why did her daughter disappear without a trace and her son try to kill himself?" Chuck wanted to know.

"Lily has known where Serena's been this whole time," Blair reminded him. "As for Eric... Their father has nothing to do with either of them. Lily has been married three, four times which means he's had that many stepfathers in his fourteen years. And Serena wasn't the most upstanding role model. Lily spent a lot of time getting her out of trouble or else trying to keep her from finding it in the first place. Eric was sort of shuffled to the side."

"It was a cry for attention," Chuck mused. Blair nodded her agreement. She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing dinnertime.

"I should go," she said, picking up her purse from where she dropped it earlier. "Dorota hates it when I'm late for dinner. And I have homework." Chuck nodded and walked with her to the door.

"I'll have the limo waiting for you out front," he said. "Arthur will take you home."

"You don't need to..." Chuck held up his hand to quiet her protest.

"It's not a big deal," he said. "And don't forget, Waldorf. Dinner. Friday."

"Assuming you have dirt on Serena by Friday," Blair reminded him. "Otherwise, I'll see you at the party." She turned and walked down the hall to the elevator, not daring to look back at Chuck. If she had, she would have seen him watching her walk away, the predatory stare he usually had for the opposite sex replaced by one that was so full of emotions and thoughts it would be impossible to start identifying them all.

Inside the elevator, Blair released the breath she hadn't known she was holding and leaned her head against the back wall of the elevator as she watched the floors tick down. Her phone rang out. It was Nate. She hit ignore and let the phone fall back into her bag without a second thought.