Title: They Don't Write Songs About The Ones That Come Easy.

Summary: Some say life is like a peach. You can dance around the middle as much as you want. Sooner or later you're gonna hit the hard bit. CB. Oneshot?

Pairing: Blair/Chuck

Rating: T, for an itty bit of language. One word actually. But it's the F word so uh-oh. Beep it out in your head if you under 15 :).

Disclaimer: I woke up this morning, looked around and realised…I don't own Gossip Girl, any of its characters or the title, which is a Veronica Mars quote. LE GASP! I do own the plot-line though :).

Authors Note: Ok, so this is my first fanfic ever! I'm actually uber excited! Ok, now I sound like an overly peppy cheerleader. But really, first ever attempt, so go easy. Constructive criticism is love for me, since I'm learning. Please keep in mind, this was written at 2 in the morning and I'm on a serious CB kick right now (always will be, but meh.) Hope you enjoy!
OH! and thanks to my uber lovely beta and bestfriend, emma. Dude, i like, love you ? And, yes i know the title written in her is different, but it was to long to publish as the real one :(.

They Don't Write Songs About The Ones That Come Easy.

He doesn't expect to see her here.

Lately, he's seen her everywhere she isn't. He'll see a velvet alice band or a chocolate curl or even the tiniest bit of silk and lace and the first thought that comes to mind is Blair. He usually tells himself to grow up and get a grip, he's Chuck-FUCKING-Bass. He doesn't get hung up over normal girls. But Blair is anything but normal.

He watches her swirl her gin, a habit she picked up off him. At least that's what he likes to tell himself.

He tells himself that she doesn't look lonely, that she doesn't look like she needs someone to understand her. Someone who's not god's blonde gift to earth or a self-righteous poor boy.

He tells himself she doesn't.

His conscience tells him he's lying and before he even realises, his feet are walking him across the room and sitting him down on the nearest barstool to her. He tells himself he did it sub-consciously because he wants a drink, not because he gives a damn about the beautiful fallen angel sitting next to him, swirling her drink. He tells himself that his insides aren't doing the same thing as her gin.

And it's then that Chuck Bass realises, he tells himself a lot of things.

She's Blair Waldorf, and she has no back-up plan.

Really, she hasn't. Her whole life has been stolen from her, chewed up and spat right back in her face and yet she's sitting on a stool at The Palace bar, just swirling her gin. It's a habit she picked up from Chuck.


Even thinking about him makes her want to run to the nearest bathroom and stick her finger down her throat.

She's Blair Waldorf, and she's lost control.

She's done it once already today and she doesn't think she has anything left to bring up. Glancing down at the hand not swirling her gin, she sees that her index finger is gnarly and wrinkled. Like it's been in water just that little bit too long. No one will notice though. Not Serena, who has spent the last three days assuring Blair that they will get her reputation back, will get her life back.

Serena doesn't understand that it's not just her reputation that's her life. Not Dan, who doesn't understand that though it may not have meant everything to her, her Queen Bee status did have some priority in her so-called-life. Not Nate, who won't even look at her, let alone get close enough to see exactly how she's feeling. And not Chuck. Not Chuck because no matter how much she thought he cared about her, he brought all her hopes crashing down around her that night at the bar. He made it perfectly clear they were nothing now. That she was worthless. And she just swirls her drink and pretends she doesn't care.

She's Blair Waldorf, and she doesn't care. She lies, though.

She doesn't see him come in, doesn't see him pause, before walking over and taking the seat next to her. But she smells him. As perverted as that may sound, it's the truth. For once. The intoxicating aroma of his cologne and the damp outside air and all of their memories hit her and it takes all of her strength not to jump off her stool and run. Once that urge passes she can't decide whether to yell at him or cry. She decides to just keep swirling her gin.

"Nice night."

His voice is harsh and forced and she freezes for a second, still trying to comprehend that he's talking to her. She knows she should be mad at him and all the things he said, but right now all she wants to do is to have a normal conversation about normal things.

"It is. Really warm. And wet, definitely wet."

She knows she's rambling and realises she hasn't done that since she was five.

She's Blair Waldorf and she speaks proper English, thank you.

"Mmm. Almost didn't wear my scarf. I did though, thought I might be lacking a few points in the unbelievably sexy meter if I didn't."

She can almost feel the smirk and risks a glance towards him. He is smirking, staring at the drink he must have ordered when she wasn't paying attention. What is she talking about?

She's Blair Waldorf and she always pays attention.

It's funny, because around Chuck she doesn't feel like Blair Waldorf, ex-Queen Bee, she's just…Blair. His scarf is red and black and definitely does not match anything he's wearing. It never does. She comes to a realization.

"It's your favourite, the one I always wanted one just like."

The words come spilling out of her mouth before she can stop them. It doesn't matter, because everything she said was true. This time he doesn't smirk, he smiles. And he opens his mouth to speak, his voice low, almost a whisper.

"I know,"

Silence consumes them again and it's like all the problems they've ever had, all the obstacles they've ever overcome comes rushing back in between them and she'd do anything to get rid of them. But she knows she can't, so she sits there and swirls her drink. She risks another glance and sees that he's staring at her index finger, the one that looks like it's been in water to long. She sees him go green as he realises exactly why only one of her fingers looks like the wine grapes from her father's vineyard. And for once she doesn't feel the urge to be sick. Because he notices. Because he cares. He thinks he can break through the barrier, he has to, because if she's come to doing that again, the he knows he needs to be there. Because he notices. Because he cares. So he speaks.

"I miss you."

She's sure that she turns her head as soon as she hears him speak, but by the time she's facing his stool, mouth agape, eyes wide. He's gone.

She's Blair Waldorf and she was wrong.

Her stomach sinks as it dawns on her that maybe he was lying. It's then that she stops swirling her drink and looks down at his chair, and what had been purposefully left behind. The scarf.

She picks it up and inhales the scent of his cologne and the damp outside air and all their memories.

She's Blair Waldorf, and for the first time in three days, she thinks that maybe, everything is going to be okay.

Walking out of the Palace, despite the fact he was planning on going upstairs to sleep, he tells himself that maybe, everything is going to be okay.

And for once, he's right.

He is Chuck Bass after all.

AN: I think it's kinda okay, for a first ever fic :).


Really, if I get enough reviews, I might just continue and make this more than an oneshot?

You really should, seeing as I'm real young and impressionable.

(No sarcasm intended, I am quite young and impressionable. Lol)

(Omg, I just said lol.)

(Damn these acronyms!)

p.s, in regards to this being unrealistic, just because they spoke, does not mean they're together again. Far from it. If i continued, there'd be a while before Blair even admitted she vaguely liked/forgave Chuck. And i wanted him to be able to say that he didn't mean what he said at the bar and that he liked her, maybe loved her without the whole,



You know you love me !

Ha, jks. love emma though :)
thanks again em (L) (L)