Disclaimer- I don't own Gossip Girl, or Chuck, Blair, Nate, Serena etc

A/N- Woo!!!!!! The writers strike is O-V-E-R! So to celebrate, I've written this oneshot that I've been wanting to do for ages. Deepending on the response and what you lovely readers think, I might write a sequel, since I've got a few ideas for it. Hope you all enjoy, and please review at the end :)

xxx

Sleepless Mondays

The bed's still unmade, sheets crumpled and in desperate need of straightening. The drapes are only half-open, or half-closed, depending on what mood he's in. Still none of it matters because the only thing that does right now, is the bottle of tequila, more than half-empty, less than half-full, that's open on the sideboard.

His throat's burning, eyes burning, lips numb from the liquid, and yet none of it's enough to block her out, maybe because nothing ever will.

Last time she'd been in here, last time she'd licked her lips his heart had hammered and then nothing had been the same again. It had been a Monday, a very sleepless Monday when she'd stayed over, when she'd fallen asleep next to him, her breathing even, chest moving up and down steadily, and he'd just watched her. Just laid there all night and watched her.

He didn't tell her that, won't ever tell her that because Blair isn't the kind of girl who wants a declaration of love from him. If it was Nate doing the declaring then things would be entirely different.

Nate still doesn't speak to her. He doesn't speak to Chuck either, because apparently his best friend's betrayal is too much to forgive. Chuck wants to shout and punch and kick because Blair had been forced to forgive both Nate and Serena to save her own pride.

But in a way, in a purely selfish Chuck Bass kind of way, he's a little pleased that Nate hasn't forgiven Blair. That way, he still has a chance.

Blair's broken. She still has the lipstick, not ruby like it once was, but just as perfectly applied in shades of pinks, deep purples, browns. She still has the clothes and the shoes and the purses, the glossy hair, the perfect skin. But she's still broken, Chuck can see.

He wishes more than anything that he couldn't.

Her bitchiness has gone. She can't pull off her act quite like she used to, and every time she attempts to send him a death glare across the courtyard at school, she fails, and her eyes look sadder than she'll ever know.

Chuck won't tell her. He doesn't want her to know.

-

He sits at the bar every Monday night. He sits at the bar every night in actual fact, but on a Monday, he sits longer, makes his drink stiffer, dresses better, wears more cologne. It was a Monday night the last time he spoke to her in the bar downstairs. Mondays mean more than just the beginning of the week.

He's almost pressed the call button on his cell fifty-seven times. Almost doesn't make the dial tone though, and so fifty-seven times he's snapped the plastic shut, breathing deep enough to feel a little dizzy so that he doesn't have to remember the lump in his throat.

None of them are happy. This is probably the first time in Chuck Bass's ridiculous life that he's noticed other people, and he thinks it was better before. Serena had to choose Blair over Jenny. Dan got mad. Serena got upset and they broke up.

Serena's broken.

Nate can't choose Blair and he can't choose Chuck. He can't choose Serena because it's inappropriate. He has to choose Jenny.

But Nate's broken too.

Blair wants Nate. She can't choose him because he's not available anymore. She wants Serena, but she hasn't got her, not really, because Serena's in love with Dan and Dan's not available either.

Chuck wants Blair. He can't have her because she wants Nate and Nate wants Serena, who wants Dan, who wants normality again. None of this was ever normal.

Feelings got in the way.

His head hurts from thinking. Or maybe it's the liquor. Either way, Chuck sinks another large amount of the piercing stuff and slams the glass on the sideboard, shutting the door just as hard in his way out.

-

Blair hates Mondays. She hates them because they're the start of the week, the start of Serena's stolen glances at Dan during Math and Chemistry, the start of her new diet, the start of the silence she shares with Chuck.

It's been nearly a month. The weather's gotten warmer, her skirts have gotten shorter and her jackets have gotten lighter. Her emptiness has only gotten worse.

She's walked to that hotel bar every night since that first sleepless Monday. She's walked as far as the door every time, seen him there with a glass of whisky, maybe tequila, sometimes vodka, and turned, bolted as fast as she can so that he never sees her.

Tonight won't differ.

And she won't tell him. She suspects he cares too much for her feelings to get tangled up in his now.

That's when it gets complicated beyond belief.

She paints her toenails every Monday. The rest of the week, she makes sure that they're free of polish because there seems something unnecessary about having them coloured the entire week. Mondays are enough.

Serena used to paint them for her. Her mind's a little absent nowadays though, and she tends to knock the brush against Blair's skin.

Blair hates a mess.

Shame that her life's become one.

Gossip girl is focused on Nate a lot lately. Seems he's been spending some time with some whore from the lacrosse team. So she fingers her hair in front of the mirror, wonders whether anyone would notice if she got it cut, got more layers perhaps, added a little colour.

Serena had told her not to. That she had the shiniest, prettiest hair, and that it would be a crime to change it. If that really is the case, Blair wonders why everyone favours Serena's hair over hers.

-

The days are a little longer, the sun not fading for a while after dinner. Chuck's not sure which he prefers, because longer, darker nights seem to hide everything so much better.

But when he sees a flash of shiny brown reflecting off the light from the doorway leading outside, when he sees lipstick and porcelain skin he suddenly knows why lighter nights are better.

"Blair wait." He shouts, almost knocking over the stool he'd been sat on to get to her. She doesn't stop though, just starts running, hair blowing out behind her, red coat flapping in the breeze, and she looks just like the devil woman.

He'd let her be his devil woman any day.

"Blair!" He shouts again. "Would you just stop!"

He has to run faster to catch her, and when he finally manages to grab her arm, he's shocked by her strength as she tries to free himself from his grasp.

"Let go of me." She spits, twisting until she hurts herself.

"Why didn't you come in?" He asks.

"I never come in."

The words have left her mouth before she ca even realise, and it's only when Chuck drops her arm that she figures her legs wouldn't take her anywhere no matter how much she willed them.

"Do you…"

"Just forget it." She says quickly. "I've got stuff to do."

"Like what?"

He raises and eyebrow and she huffs that he can even be just the slightest bit cocky in their situation.

She's kind of glad in a way though, because if he was anything else, she wouldn't know what to do.

Blair shrugs and he shakes his head a little, smirking.

"You've got nothing to do Blair, you've got nowhere to go and nobody to go to."

"You think it's funny? I've lost my boyfriend, and most of my best friend because of you."

"You lost most of Serena long ago." He replies flatly. "And come to think of it, same goes for Nate."

"I hate you." She spits coldly, walking off a little too slowly for him not to keep up.

Chuck only shrugs. "You don't hate me. You wouldn't kiss me like you do if you hated me."

"Did." Blair says quickly. "And for the record, that was just a half-ass attempt. You don't warrant my full attention."

"Really?"

"Really." She confirms, as if trying to convince herself. Convincing herself of anything has become difficult these days.

"Well contrary to your opinion, I definitely think I warrant your full attention. Nobody else will take it."

He's right. He's right and she hates him for it, hates herself for it, hates everyone for it. But she only turns, the red devil coat fanning out behind her in the night breeze as she walks away without a backward glance.

Chuck shuts his eyes and silently curses. He curses himself and he curses Serena and he curses Nate. Never Blair. None of this is her fault.

-

She cries. Just lays there on her bed and cries, her beautiful silk pillows a mess of mascara and lipstick, eyeliner and tears. Sometimes the maids come in, knock, ask her if she's alright, whether she'd like a cup of tea, perhaps some hot chocolate with mini marshmallows, some of those caramel swirl cookies she loves so much.

None of the people that enter her room are her parents. They're not Serena, not Nate, not Chuck, never Chuck.

And Blair always just shakes her head, no, because if she eats those, if she drinks the hot chocolate, then she has to make herself sick. She doesn't have the energy to force her fingers down her throat anymore.

Her dress is crumpled. It's creased, in desperate need of pressing, but she just lays there in it, curled up in a ball, her red coat still covering her bare arms, her shoes still on her feet, hurting, pinching at the toe, yet Blair doesn't take them off.

She knows she looks tragic, looks like her world has just crashed down around her, looks like she actually needs Chuck. Or anyone.

She won't admit that she does.

"Blair."

His voice is so quiet it's almost not there. But Blair hears. She knows he's come to comfort her, because she knows he knows she's broken. And she wants to crack a small smile, if just to confirm things, because it's all she's wanted.

But she doesn't, instead, just lays there, hands fingering the delicate beads of a scatter cushion that had bared the brunt of her mascara waterfall as he stands in the doorway unsure.

He sits down beside her eventually, only stares, never places a hand on her, never smoothes her hair, and she silently wills him to hold her, because she thinks that any minute, she might actually break, and then that would be the end.

She doesn't even know exactly why she's crying now. It's not Nate, not Serena, not her parents. And then she thinks it might be that she's crying for Chuck, the only person who's ever understood her, the only person who's ever accepted her, because if she doesn't have him, she's more alone that she'd thought possible.

He places a hand on her then, softly, gently, like he's afraid he'll damage her. And she gets those shivers through her body, the ones she'd never felt with Nate, the ones she'd always wanted to feel with Nate, and his other hand stays rooted by his side.

She thinks he's not sure what to do, he's nervous. He is.

So Blair just lifts her head a little, cranes her neck ever-so-slightly as her eyes look up at him, and he's staring at her. Just staring.

She nods, and his eyes flick to the window quickly, and then back to her, watering a little in the corners, sadly, almost disappointedly as his lips part, voice hoarse but soft.

"The car's outside."