A/N: I'd like to say GG/CB couldn't possibly get any worse, but it's been proving me wrong since coming back from Paris, so I better not waste my breath. From what I've seen and what I know will come, I honestly cannot say I even know where Chuck's heart is. It certainly didn't go with Eva, but that's another story. This is definitely going to be my most angsty fic yet, and I don't even know if it's gonna have a happy ending. That's how depressed I am. *sigh* Should be a 3 part, maybe more, but I want to get it done before the next episode, so probably not. Please review.

*I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

Ch.1—Stone Cold Teardrops

The sound of water spraying abruptly stopped. Her wet hands moved away from the sink and grappled for paper towels. She was breathing heavily, sweat beads popping out on her forehead. She looked up into the mirror and saw ugly. She saw not enough. She saw worthless. She turned away from her despicable polished reflection and looked at the three empty bathroom stalls. No one else was in the bathroom. It was quiet in the halls. Her big party had gone up in flames. The only person still hanging around the vicinity was probably Chuck Bass. She had never been so scared of him in her life. She'd dreaded having certain conversations with him before, afraid of being more heartbroken afterwards than she'd been before. But now she was just scared of him. She'd never seen this side of him before, nobody had. It was as if he wasn't even human.

She took a step back away from the sink, her heel clacking on the tiled floor, then the other one. Her cheeks were stained with the couple tears she'd been unable to keep inside. This was only the beginning, she told herself. It would get worse, and the only way she'd survive was if she fought back. But she couldn't fight back. She didn't want to hurt him. She'd hurt him with Eva, and now she didn't even know why. She was convinced she didn't love him. In front of him, it was instinct to say. The eerie stirring on the hairs at the nape of her neck when he was around now though…it only spelt for disaster.

The door opened. It was too late for her to go and lock the door, scurry into one of the empty stalls and purge. It'd been so long since she'd given in to the temptation. She hadn't felt the need to do so since Chuck had come into her life, since they'd really been together. A few times it had happened when he'd disappeared after his father's funeral, but that had been it. She wouldn't let herself cave in again. She wouldn't.

She heard heels clacking behind her, heading towards the stalls. A brief smile flicked to her from the woman who'd entered the room. Blair took a deep breath, grabbed her clutch and whisked out the door. For a long comfortable moment she was relieved. There was no one outside the bathroom in the hallway. Serena had left long ago, thankfully Chuck hadn't driven a wedge between them yet. The party was over. Nearly everyone was gone. She was free to get back home and lie her head in her best friend's lap. At the moment, nothing else seemed better. Fate was, however, extremely unkind to her it seemed. The villain in her life walked casually towards her, a lazy red scarf draped loosely around his neck.

"Waldorf." He gave her a once over. She saw the disappointment, the disapproval, the disgust in his eyes. Ugly. Not enough. Worthless. "Good party," he mused, glancing around the empty hallway and empty room just a breath away.

Her eyes narrowed. "Thanks to you." He blinked innocently.

"I declared war…" he said, as if it explained everything. Smoothly, he snuck her purse out of her hands.

"And I declare a truce," she said, snatching her purse right back. His mouth opened in what might have been surprise but was far from it.

"That's not how it works," he said. He leaned forward until he was a breath away. "The war's over when one of us wins, and that one of us is going to be me."

Her lips pursed tightly, forming an angry pout. Once upon a time he had called her cute when she was mad. Then, she'd smack him with either her purse or a pillow. Then, they'd have hot sex, right there in the middle of the room, because she could never stay mad at him for long. She always forgave him eventually. She blinked madly, erasing the memory. Chuck was already several feet away, clearly on his way to leaving the premises.

"Have a good night, Waldorf." She watched him as he walked away, unable to think of anything to say. He stopped just before exiting into the adjoining room. "On second thought, don't." He smiled, his lips forming into a deceiving, mischievous, hateful grin. "I would like nothing more than to see you suffer."

She sank down on a chair thankfully sitting against the wall in the hallway. If she had not had something to steady her right then, she would have collapsed on the floor. Her hands, arms, legs, all of her was trembling. There was not one part of her body that was pushing her to keep going. She swallowed hard, and closed her eyes, her head leaning back against the wall. The large hall would be open for hours, she gathered. It was safe to sit here and calm herself for hours.

It occurred to her that a glass of water might be helpful in getting through the night. She didn't dare attempt a walk back to the bathroom though. The temptation would be too great, even if that woman was still in there. She wouldn't be in there long and then she'd be done for. She had to resist. She couldn't let Chuck destroy her. She'd told him he'd never be able to destroy her. Was he trying to prove her wrong? No. He was avenging Eva, that French floozy who'd managed to turn him into a do-gooder philanthropist over night, one who could care less about her or their history. It pained her to hear him talk about Eva as if she had changed him, as if she hadn't been part of the process at all. Didn't she save him from falling – no, jumping – to his death on the rooftop of Victrola? Didn't she give him a reason to believe in himself so he wouldn't fall off the deep end again and again? Wasn't it her who forgave him for all his wrongs, even the ones that should have sent him to some emotional prison for life? Wasn't it her he was going to propose to on the top of the Empire State building because he wanted to marry her, because all of the good that was in him was because of her?

A tear dribbled down her cheek, followed by another and another. Had it all been a dream? A horribly awful wonderfully amazing dream? A nightmare? She blinked more tears away when she heard the bathroom door open and close. The woman didn't acknowledge her, probably didn't see her. It didn't matter. She stood to her feet, very unsteadily and made her way to the door. She opened her purse to retrieve her phone. She'd text – maybe call – Serena, and tell her she was coming home. They'd watch Tiffany's and eat macaroons to their hearts content. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

But she didn't find her phone. The basshole had stolen it. She sighed in frustration, almost throwing her purse to the ground. It would be too hard to pick it up again though. She'd fall. She wouldn't get up again, the emotional trauma from everything Chuck would be too much for her to think logically long enough to put her thoughts together for such a strenuous activity as standing to her feet from a crumple position on the floor.

She would have to see him again, she realized. She couldn't risk him stabbing her in the back again tonight. It would be too much for her senses, even if he didn't care what happened to her anymore, even if he decided he didn't have a heart, especially in regards to her. She didn't think she'd ever have enough strength to fight back. But, she had to get her phone back, and that would mean more heartbreak, more self esteem falling into the dust just to get him to rest for the night. She shook violently for a long moment before miraculously trudging outside. Her limo was thankfully waiting for her. She didn't have to hail a cab, and try to explain why she had no cash on her minus a stash of ones. Chuck had taken all the rest too. She had been oblivious to his actions in her hurt anger. Those circumstances always proved to be the perfect ones to make her victim to his attacks.

"So, you decided to come fetch your phone," he said casually, watching as she walked into the room. He noticed that she was now carrying her heels in her hands. He was probably wondering if she'd walked there, she thought hatefully. He was no doubt enjoying that possibility even if he knew that was a ridiculous assumption. She wouldn't sink that low, even if she was afraid that she would be sinking lower and lower as the days went on. If he continued on in this war until he was satisfied she was hurting just as much as he'd been hurt, she feared for her own self control.

"I've had enough back-stabbing for one night," she told him snidely.

"It's on the table," he said absently, gesturing off handedly to the other side of the room. She moved across the room in a tired rush and gathered the device in her hand. She could not get into it. He had put a lock on it – a new password. She turned around and looked at him, annoyed.

"You put a lock on my phone?"

He shrugged. "It won't be hard for you to figure out, I'm sure."

She scoffed and slipped it into her purse. She'd deal with it in the morning, and whatever other surprises he'd purposefully stuffed into the device, along with whatever other demise he planned to give her.

"Great," she muttered, walking back to the elevator. Then, she stopped, cursing herself for sporadically deciding to talk to him again.

"When is this going to stop, Chuck?"

He looked amused, and continued to sit on the couch positioned almost in the center of the room. She continued to look at him, halfway between annoyed and on the verge of another burst of heartbreak.

"You already ruined the party, one that would have given me significant status at Columbia, with a high-ranking professor and my peers. Not to mention you managed to get Serena out of the vicinity by at least a block, so I'd have no one to run to when I was inevitably embarrassed worse than I'd been in a long time." She started walking towards him. He was actually smirking as she continued on, but she wouldn't stop until she was sure he was well aware of all the hurt he caused and how it was breaking her, regardless if he enjoyed that prospect or not. "On top of that, you managed to get one of our conversations taped and sent in to gossip girl, selecting only the certain parts that would declare me some sort of twisted lesbian in a sex scandal." She paused briefly, catching her breath. He continued to look amused. "Are you happy now?"

"Not even close."

She shook her head and looked away momentarily. "I'm sorry for what happened with Eva, okay? I didn't mean for her to leave. I just wanted the two of you to break up."

"To hurt me," he said.

"No," she said quickly.

"There's no other possibility, Blair. You've already told me in your most emotional heart-wrenching way that you don't love me anymore. If you can hurt me to make sure I'm not happy, then I have equal right to do the same."

She choked up some air in disbelief. She shook her head rapidly. "Have you no limits?" Her arm flew to her side, frustration welling up inside her. She ignored his threat of war, declaring that there would be no limits. He'd been furious at the time and had only been feeding the angry emotion from that moment on surely, but there had to be some part of him that still felt for her.

He stood to his feet and walked towards her. "Who knows what my limits are?" he said airily, sounding quite sure of himself. "I'm not going to stop until you have nothing."

Her lips parted. Fear and extreme hurt welled up in her eyes. Her eyebrows scrunched up a little, trying to stomach his words. Was this really the Chuck she knew? He'd never been particularly good, but he'd never been this bad, and certainly not to her. Even if she did still love him and was ready to tell him, regardless of where it led, she couldn't tell him now. She couldn't explain how isolated and disregarded she'd felt during his entire relationship with Eva. She couldn't do anything anymore because of how heartless he'd become. She couldn't even tell him that he was a good man before that just made some awful mistakes and didn't learn from them.

It took her a long time to step away from him, to steady herself so she wouldn't cry. She couldn't show any more emotion. She couldn't. She couldn't be weak in his eyes. That would only give him more ammunition to hurt her. She took a deep breath and eventually turned away, heading for the elevator.

"It's going to get worse if you don't start fighting back, Blair," he told her cockily. She turned her head to him as the elevator doors chimed, allowing her access to her freedom. He was smirking.

"You have nothing to lose," she said. "It's going to get worse either way."

She couldn't stand to look at him anymore. She closed her eyes and waited for the doors to close, which thankfully they did. Her hands trembled, just as they'd done almost every second for the last hour. She crumbled on the floor of the elevator. She imagined him watching the surveillance cameras in the elevators and laughing at her demise. She was so broken, and she was the only one to blame. She'd been the one that had begged him to come back. He'd told her it wouldn't be easy, but she'd pushed aside like that didn't matter. Nothing mattered more to her than him. Despite the fact that she might move on and succeed in life, she couldn't imagine her life without him. It seemed too painful to even contemplate. Yet, here she was broken all because of him. And she'd asked for it. She'd asked for him to ignore her, move on, act as if what they had had been nothing worth remembering or valuing. She'd asked for him to torture her. She'd asked for it all.

Self-hatred was the only way to get through this, she was sure, and she indulged it in when she had to.

"No one will ever measure up to what we had."

She started crying. All his declarations of love swam through her head. He'd always fought so hard for her, and she'd forgiven him for his transgressions every. time. Did falling out of love with him mean he had to stop fighting for her? He'd slept with Jenny because he thought she didn't love him. But there was no possible way she'd believe for a second that he would have given Eva up for her. Eva, the prostitute turned saint, Chuck the womanizer turned philanthropist. The perfect couple, and her left alone in the past and in the darkness. She'd never felt so…ugly. not enough. worthless.

Serena would stop her from relapsing tonight. But she didn't know what she'd do every night after that. Chuck had, in the blink of an eye, become someone she'd never seen before. He somehow had the capability to hurt her even more now, worse than she'd ever been hurt before. But, she still loved him. It was as if she'd always be connected to a murderer, one that now would not hesitate in cutting her to pieces. The police would never find her dead body.


A/N: Omg. That was SO hard to write. You've got no idea. I mean, usually when I write painful stuff, I can somehow step out of it because I'm in control of what'll happen, so I can sort of separate myself from it while still maintaining good writing skills. Heh. But wow. Definitely torturous. The things I had Chuck do to her and coming straight off the promos, American & Canadian, heh, along with a few of the lines from the last scene. Hope you enjoyed the angst? Lol. More to come. Hold on. It's gonna get even more depressing.

*Oh, and if you couldn't guess, the last couple lines were meant to be metaphorical. ;p