Title: Dropped In a State of Imaginary Grace

Ship: CB, not really NB but more of mentions of it, DS, NS

Disclaimer: If I owned Gossip Girl, Chuck Bass would live in my bed. Clearly he doesn't, so there's that.

Summary: A collection of CB connecting drabbles that hopefully add up to something. :P

AU: Dedicated to brunettebabe91 because she was up my ass in the best way possible to write something that's more than one chapter.  I'll do what I can with it! Also, a Christmas prez for y'all a day early. I just beat Santa!... Yes, I'll stop rambling now.

It's just another party. Just another party where she looks stunning on the arm of his best friend and she'll pretend she didn't see him staring and he'll down so much whiskey that when he brings home some slut with brown hair and brown eyes, he'll almost be able to pretend it's her. Except with her, he'd let her stay in the bed and would hold her in his arms, instead of kicking her out immediately after.

But at this party, there's no Nate, because the Golden Couple's on the outs, and it looks like they're in for a long winter. There's no Serena, either, because Not-so-lonely boy had a hipster convention to attend or something Brooklyny like that.

She's not the glowing hostess she usually is. She looks a little sadder, and a little more broken. He's probably the only one that notices.

She reminds him of the little jar his mother used to have to store all her precious trinkets in. The jar was nearly indestructible, but everything in it was so frail that she barely ever opened it when he was in the room. He'd ask her why, and he could still hear her answer in his head: "Because, Charles, you have a habit of breaking everything that can be." She'd sigh and shake her head, and walk off crying, drowning her sorrows in a concoction of vodka and beer and something orange that smelled disgusting.

After a while, he learned to stop asking.

This time, she looks him in the eye instead of ignoring him and she's the one who's downed too much whiskey. When she walks over to him with that look in her eyes he knows they can't be out there. He pulls her away from prying eyes and Kati and Is's matching cell phones and they go into a little empty hallway.

He makes sure not to touch her too much because if he does he'll never be able to stop. The most he does is putting his hand on her arm to drag her away.

She leans against the white brick wall, sliding down into a sitting position. She looks like a limp puppet, overused and the strings tangled. "I don't like this."

"What?" he asks, even though he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

She looks up at him, her doe eyes innocent and naïve and still sad-looking. "That you can get to me like you do."

His breath hitches.

"You're why, you know. Nate's so mad at me. He thinks I should want him instead." She tears up a little bit and his heart breaks a little bit for her, instead of over her, at the same time. He's not used to the feeling.

This time, he can't help bringing her into his arms and trying to comfort her. He tries to take her to her apartment, but she refuses to get out of his limo, so she ends up sleeping in his bed with him. He knows in the morning she won't remember any of it, but the fact that he will is almost worth it.

Almost.

He wakes up and she's already gone, a note written in that neat cursive she's famous for, thanking him for giving her a ride and signed with just her first name. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and resists the urge to call her and ask her what the hell that was. He knows she won't pick up, so he won't waste his time.