Disclaimer: Don't own GG.


Chuck admitted it. She was good, too good for even him. His little fox in mink fur was just too smart. Once again, he was thinking about the challenge she had left him. A grin formed on his face with a bitter vengeance. He simultaneously felt numbness clawing back up his body and pain in his chest. He gripped the whiskey tumbler tighter and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall.

His fingers uncurled and the empty tumbler dropped to the carpeted floor and he simply wondered, where on earth was his fox? His vixen? He knew she was out there somewhere in the world, shining light in some other man's world. Who was he kidding? Chuck Bass was the devil, and the devil never got his angel. He just had harpies.

His vixen was not beautiful, but she was charismatic and could indeed play devil's advocate. Sweet, sweet, woman, crazy with lust, passion, and drive, she drove him. Time was of the essence, and she had left him a date, along with a clue. With a passion, he hated her tricks and mockery of him.

The Bass suite had mementos dedicated to her everywhere. There was a Romantic style painting of her in the living room, her eyes seemed to be alive and almost followed you around the room as you went.

He tossed his head back and stared. There was a picture of all three of them, Nate, Blair, and himself during their high school days. Oh, how he hated it.

"God damn, Nathaniel," Chuck snarled as he threw the tumbler across the room and into the fireplace.

Blair sat between them, a small smile on her face, with Chuck's scarf wrapped around her neck. Nate and Chuck both sat next to her, their faces pressed in close with her for the picture. Chuck could guess that Serena had taken the picture as she wasn't in it. Then again, Serena had never liked him. Something about being a sex fiend – as if she wasn't.

His phone rang and he threw it behind him. Chuck didn't know where it went. Somehow, he just didn't care.

A voice message went along with the picture, "Hey Chuck, dear! HAPPY SWEET 16th BIRTHDAY, BITCH!" grinned Blair, her smile infectious as always.

"I know you're away in Europe for your birthday right now, but come home soon so we can throw the biggest bash when you get back, alright? Don't catch too many STDs while you're there! Kiss kiss, love ya!" The message ended and Chuck moped for a little bit.

The next picture was them on the Eiffel Tower, when they had both been in Paris at the same time. As two out of place American teenagers, they became good friends in Paris. Chuck discovered that Blair wasn't all prickles and thorns and not just Nathaniel's girlfriend.

Fucking Nate, had the best girl out there and he ruined her. Nathaniel had driven Blair to live in London, Paris, and Prague. She was pursuing her dreams and god damn, he wanted her to come home to NYC. That was all he asked, really, it was.

Chuck staggered over to the bedroom. He reached his desk, which was really a dining table for 6, and fumbled for the key to the Goyard box sitting to the side.

"Pandora's box," he muttered before sliding the key inside the lock and undoing the latch.

The Goyard box held several items of note. On top was a familiar silk scarf, it was another one of his trademark scarves. He took it out and inhaled deeply, the undeniable scent of Blair entered his mind – she smelled of rain and rose petals.

Her perfume sat in the bottom, the 'Charles' by Blair Waldorf, her own customized perfume. If he remembered correctly, it smelled of port, mimosas, bergamot and something delicious. Also 'Blair' by Eleanor Waldorf the 10th Anniversary Special Edition perfume sat beside it. His old school polo lay on the bottom, slightly too snug for him, but perfect for her to sleep in, his little vixen had mentioned.

He found an iPod at the bottom. Chuck grimaced, an almost passable smile, and set it down. There were two jewelry boxes, one held a pink diamond and the other a Cartier white diamond encrusted Panthere ring.

The other pink diamond was currently around her finger, the stone was big enough to be a necklace, but Chuck stared fascinatedly before putting it back into the little case.

Chuck opened the notebook, it read:


I hope your birthday is everything you hoped it would be.

Hugs, kisses and love

Blair Waldorf

He turned the page over and sighed, she loved personal notes. Blair believed that detail was sophistication and elegance. Nevertheless, it was also very Audrey Hepburn-esque. He remembered reciting lines of Breakfast at Tiffany's to her at midnight in a hotel in Paris.


I hope you don't mind me returning your scarf, it was a rather overdue wait. I rather must admit, that when I wore it out, I got quite a few compliments on it. It kept me warm and reminded me of high school. So with it I am returning your polo as well, so I can move on from that period in my life. Don't worry, Nate always believed it was his. I assume we both know better?

The perfume is because the two are sold as a set. 'Charles' really does remind me of you. Blair holds notes of strawberries, violets, mandarin, and jasmine. Charles holds notes of bergamot, lavender, port, and mimosas.

Happy Birthday, the jewelry is for your birthday. Please, do not return them, although, I expect you won't, if I know you as well as I think.

Just listen to the iPod, please? And then pretend we're lying around the Waldorf home in the Hampton's.

"Time, which alone makes their reputations of men, in the end makes their faults respectable." – Voltaire

B. Waldorf


Chuck knew every song on that damn iPod by memory, but he couldn't put together the clues. She was hinting at him. Damn, Blair, and her Mona Lisa secrets. The whole thing, was beautiful, dizzying, and complicated. He wore the quote on his sleeve, and it hung in his office.

"Time, which alone makes their reputations of men, in the end makes their faults respectable," he murmured, wishing the haze of alcohol would just disappear. He needed to concentrate, god damn. It wasn't their school, he knew it wasn't.

If it wasn't important to her, she would never use it. Chuck knew the way Blair thought. It was something not as obvious as Constance Billard and right under his nose. Again, the taunting and teasing. It would be, it would be – fuck, the world was getting dim.

October 8th was approaching soon, and rapidly was he losing time. Reputations, faults, respectable, where was all this? Within 2 hours, was October 8th, and he couldn't even stay awake. Would he miss her? What was going on?

The fuck?

The world became a mass of colour with no distinction before blackness. It was not two hours later when he could hear his phone. It rang, and rang, and fuck, that pounding headache. He felt like shit, but from his partying ways in high school, he knew how to deal.

Chuck managed to crawl out to the living room and dive under the bar to answer his phone, "what the fuck do you want?!"

He recognized that voice, even if he only heard it in recordings and dreams. The soft lilt and sweet tone carried even through the shoddy speaker from his phone. It was like hell had frozen over, and as he the devil were bare and vulnerable, "My, my, someone's angry."


A/N: Freshly revised. How 'bout that? Read and Review!