A/N: I wrote this between season five and six so there's some bitter subtext here, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Another one of my AU's to an extreme degree.

Summary: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but queens of Manhattan usually have to live in Manhattan," he said. "You can't rule from a foreign country."

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Heavily inspired by the show Girls, characters are from Gossip Girl as well as ship love. No beta but me.

"I just don't understand. You do this all the time."

"I really don't know what you're expecting of me."

"When you commit to something, I don't think it's completely out of the question that you stick to it."

"This isn't about tonight. This is Rome all over again."

"Well, what do you expect? You flaked on that and now you're flaking on this."

"Flaked? Flaked?"

"Don't make this a big deal."

"Flaked is something you would say to your ex-girlfriend, not to me. And excuse me for doing exactly what you're doing."

"My ex-girlfriend is your best friend. And what you're doing is over reacting."

"You pressured me going to Rome with you too early. That's what that was. You act like your ex-girlfriend being my best friend isn't issue, which it clearly is. And I'm not going to this literary presentation of yours, because it's the same one you go to every weekend and I actually have something else to do."

"Something better?"

"My job. If you haven't noticed, you're not the only one who does anything of value. If me having job is threatening to you—"

"Do not turn this into something else."

"And don't use that tone of voice with me. I've had enough of your superior passive aggression for tonight, thank you."

"What does that mean?"

"You're the master of subtlety, you tell me. Or are you actually admitting that you aren't the superior being of known universe?"

"This has nothing to do with tonight. Tonight is about how you think your fashion show is more important—"

"That's exactly my point. I hear the disdain in your voice when you say fashion. You know very well it's a gathering for all major media conglomerates and their backers—"

"How is that any different from what I'm doing?"

"Because you can't stand the fact that I don't need you."

"You've made that perfectly clear."

"Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"You know exactly what—"

"Or would you rather just lay out some ambiguously hurtful statement."

"You don't look me in the eyes when we have sex anymore."

"We would have to be having sex for me to be looking you in the eyes."

Since the dawn of time, it was a known fact to Blair that Brooklyn was beneath her. She had nothing against it - despite the fact that it was lowly. But the simple fact was that her home was in Manhattan and being late for an event at The Carlyle was only due to the fact that her boyfriend lived in Brooklyn.

She missed her town car. She missed her best friend. And right now, she was missing an event that she was supposed to be predominately featured at.

Stepping out of a cab while everyone else got out of limos was mildly humiliating. The sting was sharpened by the fact that Serena saw it.

Blair forced a smile and hug but felt the chill seep into her bones.

"What's wrong?"

And she hated herself even more. Serena was so genuine, even now, that it hurt Blair more than she could bear.

"What do you think?" Blair asked as they walked arm in arm.

"Dan again?"

She could hear the pain in her best friend's voice. Even paralyzed by it, there was nothing that she could do.

"He's mad that you came here tonight," Serena assumed.

Blair still said nothing.

"And?" Serena asked.

"It's the sex again."

"How long has it been?"

Blair knew that she didn't deserve Serena. She had a best friend who not only allowed her to date who she defined as the love of her life but genuinely cared what was wrong.

"If you count two weeks ago we got drunk after his reading," Blair said stiffly.

"Which you don't," Serena stated.

"A month."

"Is it just that you're bored?" There wasn't even a hint of triumph in Serena's voice.

Blair almost envied her for that.

"It isn't that I'm bored," Blair answered. "It's that it's boring. His 400 Blows poster was more interesting which is consequently what I stared at the entire time."

This time, Serena was silent. Blair couldn't expect everything. Serena was still human and this was as far as it went. This was as far as Serena could go.

Blair didn't know why she held on.

She did – Dan was safe and there had been a time when she actually needed him. But those reasons were getting less and she was caring less about how he was slipping through her newly manicured fingers.

"Oh, god."

Any distraction would have been a good one, and Blair could tell there was something of interest in Serena's voice.

Blair looked around the room.

"Who is that?"

There was one person making his way towards them through the crowd and Serena clearly was less than accommodating.

"You remember when my mother married the owner of The Palace for like five seconds," Serena said under her breath.

"Vaguely," Blair answered. "We were… sixteen?"

"Just," Serena replied. "I didn't think he'd recognize me."

"Stock brokers from Asia would recognize you," Blair answered. "And you seem to recognize him."

Everyone recognized Chuck Bass. Barely twenty-one, he had raised more properties than his father had at twenty-five.

And the old man was notoriously taking it very badly.

But he was Chuck Bass. He didn't need blood.

"Serena," Chuck greeted smoothly. They politely exchanged kisses on the cheek. "It's been awhile."

"This is my friend," Serena introduced. "Blair Waldorf."

If Chuck had taken notice to Blair, it was only for a fleeting second, barely recognizable to the naked eye.


"You've met," Serena said. Blair smiled tightly. Serena hated it when people overlooked Blair, most likely due to Blair's insecurity for the majority of their adolescence.

Chuck didn't answer.

"Don't strain yourself, Serena," Blair answered. "My company isn't worth the mention of the Basses."

At that moment Chuck did look her over.

But it still would have been hard to tell.

"If you'll excuse me," Blair said coolly. "You're in the way of my investors."

When Blair turned her back on them, Chuck turned towards Serena.

"It was the polite thing to do."

"Don't do me any favors," Serena retorted. "You never really cared about politeness. And our parents have been divorced for practically half a decade."

"And I've been divorced from my father for half that."

"You're not impressing anyone."

"I'm Chuck Bass."

"She doesn't care."

"Who said anything about that?"

"I'm just letting you know," Serena answered.

"I haven't heard about Blair Waldorf in years," Chuck said. "She might as well have been dead."

"Maybe she is."

Chuck smirked. "Maybe she is."

Chuck Bass knew how to dress. He knew how to speak, he knew all the jargon, he knew what fork to use, and he his knowledge of Europe and Asia made him a shark in his field.

That was what he was doing there. He had newly struck up deals to take over The Carlyle in a war with The Old Man.

Chuck Bass blended in with how well he looked, but contrastingly stood out. Everyone looked at him. Everyone knew who he was.

Blair hated how her heart pounded when she could smell his musk.


"Martini. I'm not a heathen."

Chuck looked at her cautiously.

"Am I?"

"You're nouveau riche."

"That's a generalization."

"I'm a lady," Blair answered.

"Ladies drink martinis?"

"Not scotch."

"I figured," Chuck answered. "The scotch was for me."

Blair watched as the bartender slid the drink towards him and she stared at her own empty place.

"Feel free," Chuck said. "Tony can get it for you on the house. After all, you are an attractive woman."

"Am I?" Blair asked. "You seemed more concerned with Serena."

"It's important to keep connections," Chuck said. "My father never bothered with it. I'm going to bury him."

"That's not very nice."

"No one is very nice," Chuck answered. "I'm just honest about it."

"You're not a philosopher," Blair answered. "And I'm not impressed."

"Yes you are," Chuck answered. He didn't hesitate before he said, "have you seen the roof?"


Chuck didn't even look at her when he took her hand. He just pulled her along.

Blair's heart beat in her loins.

She had forgotten what it was like not to be careful.

"This is where you take all your girls."

"You're assuming you're one of them?"

Blair stared out at the skyline, feeling his eyes on her. She couldn't remember the last time she had been embarrassed in front of a man and was relieved that the darkness hid her flushed neck.

She was always porcelain. Blush couldn't touch her ivory skin.

"I was surprised to see you here," Chuck said.

Blair forced herself to look at him. Even in the darkness, she could feel his eyes. She was sixteen again, but even then she knew where to look; knew what to do. Suddenly she was panicky and a lightheaded schoolgirl.

"You do realize I run Waldorf Designs."

"Very admirable of you," Chuck said. "I thought you were doing that from Brooklyn."

Blair was silent.

"You do live in Brooklyn now, don't you?" he pressed.

"No," Blair said sharply. "I live on Park Avenue. Since birth."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but queens of Manhattan usually have to live in Manhattan," he said. "You can't rule from a foreign country."

"What makes you think I am?" Blair snapped in frustration. She didn't like how he was pushing this. She didn't like him at all.

"Is it a coincidence I haven't seen you?" he asked. "I thought we ran in the same circles."

"No one sees you," she answered.

"And yet I live here," he said. "Strange."

"I would get my boyfriend to move to Manhattan if he wasn't—"

"A pretentious so-called artist in love with his own work?"

"What do you know about it?" she asked. "You bring all of your conquests up here."

"You have free will," Chuck answered. "Don't you?"

For a moment, Blair was speechless. She knew the answer. She had to know. But even though she lived on the Upper East Side, she spent most of her time in Brooklyn watching movies that were confusing for the sake of being confusing and surrounded by writers who lived by philosophies that made them feel obscure and intellectual.

"I'm sure they did too," Blair answered. "I'm not like them."

"Why, are you weak in the knees?" Chuck asked. His voice was husky in a way she had never heard of before and she leaned against the ledge for support. "Who says I took you up here for that? I just like the view."

Blair felt her heart sink. The Chuck Bass she recalled from prep school was a notorious womanizer who would take anything that spread her legs for him. But he was just looking at her passively as her skin crawled with revulsion – revulsion at herself, but also pure delight.

She didn't want him to stop looking.

The gravel crackled beneath his expensive shoes and she regretted her back being against the wall. She could feel his breath brushing against her neck as she restrained herself from her eyes rolling back into her head.

"But the first time I do fuck you, I might scare you a little. I'm a man. And I actually know what I'm doing."

She could smell him, undiluted and arousing.

She thought the shiver going up her spine would stop, but it just revolved around again and started over.

Chuck backed away from her. She recognized that impertinent smirk as the door to the roof closed behind him.

Serena had come in a limo and Blair ignored the fact that she was still at the party. She directed the driver back to her home – her penthouse.

Blair raised the partition back up and lay gingerly across the seat. She pulled up the skirt of her dress around her waist and directed her fingers downward.

Blair thought of Chuck Bass and Chuck Bass inside her with his animal attraction and magnetism. And for the first time that she could even remember, she came.