A/N- Me again! So orginally, I had this story planned for One Tree Hill, but after watching some of season 5, I decided against it, simply because Brooke just isn't the kind of person anymore that I was writing her as. So as Blair is so wonderfully obsessive compulsive, and Chuck is such an ass (but in a good way obviously) I thought this story was better for them.

So even though though I don't believe Chuck would EVER cheat on Blair, Josh Schwarz painted the season finale as though he would, and so this follows on from that. This is my first multi-chapter GG fic, so I'd appreciate your support with reviews :) I've written most of this already, and I think there'll only be about 6 chapters in total. (See? Not too long, I'm easing myself out of oneshots haha)

This is dedicated to the wonderful ending lines: "And who are you?"..."I'm Chuck Bass."

Because I love that their relationship is still tainted.

Gracie xxx

The Saddest Song

Chapter 1: The Boy's Bathroom

She'd been alone in the bathroom, one with beautiful marble tiles, black and smooth, and Egyptian cotton towels, pristine white without a trace of the black mascara she always wears. The suite's white too, a huge corner tub with jacuzzi jets, and a double shower, one that shot water all over the body leaving nothing untouched, nothing dirty, nothing imperfect. It was, after all, Blair Waldorf's bathroom, one that had to show elegance, opulence, perfectness.

None of that had mattered though, because she'd been holding a tiny white stick, one that had matched the décor, which would have generally satisfied her had it not given the wrong information. She doesn't want to be pregnant in high school, and she certainly doesn't want to be a pregnant Upper East Side teenager. That doesn't fit her niche.

Chuck's not the father, and for that Blair's glad, she supposes, because she's not sure she can handle this being worse than it already is. He's not the father because she's newly pregnant and they haven't done that in months, not since they were together, or at least, not since they were creeping around together in his suite, in limos and club rooms, in that disgusting store cupboard in the hall beside the biology rooms in Constance Billiard.

She thinks back to the other week-it's the event freshest in her mind for sex, freshest in her mind for anything due to the fact that she hadn't actually passed out from the amount of alcohol when she hit her pillow. That had been happening way too much lately, and one time, even Serena had passed comment. Now, Blair's blonde friend usually ends up the same way.

There'd been a bar and shots, tequila, vodka and orange, vodka and cranberry, vodka. There'd been a club, fake I.D's of course, and a PDA from Serena and Dan in front of her eyes, and then another, from Nate and that random Vanessa girl that was almost too much to handle, and then finally, right in the corner of the room, the furthest corner away and yet it seemed to be right under her nose, she'd spied Chuck and some unknown blonde that had surely spent the night in his suite. That one that had sent her over the edge and to the bar.

And then Ben had been there, just standing in that annoying, polite well-mannered way that Chuck never adopted, waiting patiently to be served a scotch on the rocks, lemon twist.

Blair hated scotch on anybody's breath but Chuck's.

He was cute enough, if she'd liked that sort of thing. And in that jet on the way to Tuscany, she'd felt some sort of a connection, some sort of want to stay with him.

And after Chuck had confessed to sleeping with Amelia, Ben had been there again, offering to fly her wherever she needed to go. They'd only gotten as far as the bedroom.

He'd been dressed in jeans, smart not casual, but it was of confusion to Blair how the doorman had let him in, let alone why he was even still around. Still, she'd made her way to the bar, not just for another shot, but for some company. For that night supposedly being about "fun", as Serena had put it, it seemed that someone was doing their damned hardest to not let her have any.

There'd been dancing eventually, after much of Serena's persuasion, the blonde taking advantage of the attention before winking at Dan and blowing him a kiss, making lonely boy blush further. Blair was almost certain he still hadn't got the hang of dating Serena van der Woodesen. They'd consumed every free drink sent their way; cocktails, champagne, liquid cocaine. They'd danced together, blonde hair with brunette, black dress against tiny grey shorts, Serena's eye on Dan, Blair's eye on Chuck. And that blonde whore with him. If it wasn't Ameli-whore then it was an Ameli-whore lookalike.

Perhaps it wasn't that night, perhaps…no, it must have been. Ben had dark hair, she remembers, dark eyes, soft hands. She'd hated the feel of his hands on her, soft skin against softer skin. Chuck's hands had always been rough, perhaps even a little dirty (not literally of course-nothing was literal any more) and her pure manicure.

They'd danced, grinded, kissed, licked on the dance floor. And all of it had been totally out of character. Gossip Girl had a field day the morning after, posting clips of Blair strutting her stuff uninhibited. He'd left after a couple songs, and then come back with a cocktail each, orangey-yellow with some kind of red stuff at the bottom, a morello cherry on top. He clearly didn't know her at all. Blair hated morello cherries. Chuck knew that. And yet she drunk the stuff, and ate the cherry because Ben wasn't Chuck and nobody was going to think twice about whether she did, or did not like morello cherries.

They'd left together, hailed a cab, held hands, never talked, just kissed. Blair Waldorf hadn't hailed a cab in her life, and for a millisecond, it had felt good.

That feeling gave way to sickness when she'd caught Chuck's eye as he was stumbling out of that very same club himself with that very same blonde on his arm.

X

Stripping. He'd taken off his top, her shoes had been next, peep toes clanging against the woodwork of the hallway, waiting to be put away in her closet the next morning when she returned home, to resume their place beside the pair of Kurt Geiger bow details, arranged by colour. He'd removed her dress next, throwing it somewhere between the banisters and the door to a bedroom she wasn't entirely convinced was his. Her dainty hands had reached for his zipper, and they'd fallen. That explains the bruise on her hip the next day.

So it could have been him. The sheets were tangled, creased, crumpled, undoubtedly replaced with a fresh new set the next day by his equivalent of Dorota, and her head hurt, too many aspirin or other pain killers already consumed in earlier days for there to be any left.

And now she presses her head into her hands, a tear finally willing to escape as she faces the fact that she doesn't even remember exactly where his house is, or even what his surname night be, another and another falling as the walls of the cubicle spin away from her and she lurches forward, throat burning, eyes clouded over as she spills the contents of her empty stomach into the toilet bowl, a flush of the chain and a straighten of the new Chloé blouse, a fake smile as if to rectify the situation.

And he's there when she unlocks the door, frowning with confusion, but he has that look in his eyes, the one which tells her (silently of course) that he's not really surprised that it was her in the cubicle. The sex of the toilets in the wrong hallway doesn't stop Blair Waldorf.

He's not been seen with the blonde anymore, or any blonde for that matter (not even Serena)at least, not in public. She's not even pleased. There aren't feelings towards him anymore, only numbness. She needs alcohol and pills to feel again, emotions that she's almost sure she's forgotten until they come back.

"Blair?"

It's the first time he's spoken to her since that night he confessed to sleeping with Amelia while they were supposed to be flying to Europe together, and yet she doesn't even care anymore, she's just wondering why he said her name as though it was a question. It's not like her appearance has changed since the last time she saw him (straight after last period yesterday, for the record), but for some stupid reason, he now suddenly seems disbelieving that his ex…girlfriend?... is standing in front of him.

"What?" She barks, eyebrow raised as a defence, just in case he thinks she's going to suddenly blurt all of this out to him.

"Are you alright?"

Blair scowls. Chuck never asks if she's alright.

"I'm just peachy." She tells him coldly, rolling her eyes as she washes her hands and splashes some onto her face.

"For a bulimic you mean." He adds, with a stupid cocked eyebrow as he toys with his latest ridiculous scarf.

"Jeez Chuck way to start yet another rumour about me." She retorts, grabbing the lipstick from her hand bag (the same bag that matches the new shoes on her feet).

"They're not rumours when they're true."

Not this again. She can't do this, she's tried to fight his concerns about her weight, about her health, but every time she does, he seems to bring her back, a constant reminder of what they no longer are, and never will be. Only Chuck Bass, the man-whore she's never wanted to feel anything for, can make her feel like she meant to world to him once, like she was his everything, just as he'd been hers.

But that's only an illusion, a dream, a fantasy to think that he ever cared much really. If he'd cared at all, if he'd shown just the tiniest ounce of respect towards her, then he wouldn't have slept with Amelia.

It all just proved she was right about him all along.

The door opens, and a very confused freshman eyes the pair of them, instantly recognising Blair. She's back to Queen Bee since Ben-Gate went public on Gossip Girl.

"You guys are fucking again? In the bathrooms? At school?"

Blair shoots him daggers, a look to say that he shouldn't be asking, but she answers with a reply anyway, because it's Spring Fling elections soon, and she wouldn't mind being crowned Rose Queen. Rather her than Serena for once. Even if she is pregnant.

"Chuck and I aren't fucking, no. I've found that when you have to ask if it's inside of you, you're probably not meant to be together between the sheets, or at all, if you know what I mean. Makes me wonder how he can actually lure girls into bed with him."

Her voice is sharp, and she's proud of that hurt look crossing her ex-…girlfriend's?... face. It won't make Gossip Girl later, she's sure of that. It just killed to get it in there, even if it wasn't true. He could do with being taken down a peg or two.

The unsuspecting guy (without a name for now, because she has no idea who he is, and he doesn't matter to her enough to ask) takes a gulp, hurrying himself to the stalls at the other side of the room.

Blair's quicker. She manages another comment before he can close the door (doesn't like peeing in front of a girl, she guesses.) and he simply heads back towards the door he came from.

"You won't tell anybody you saw me here. I could ruin the dating scene for people like you for years.

And then she's out of that bathroom before Chuck can respond, leaving the lipstick (berry bliss, because she's given up on ruby red) on the counter beside the sink, and a trail of emotional destruction in her wake. She's breaking Chuck Bass.

Just like he broke her.