A/N: Hi everyone! So I have been rereading all of my work lately and came upon this project. TATO (The Angel & The One) is a project that has always been very close to my heart, and I very much enjoyed doing it. This is why, when I came upon its version here on ff I couldn't feel more disappointed in myself for all the horrible mistakes throughout it - this is the consequence of me always publishing my unrevised rough drafts in order to upload updates faster. I am aware that the writing was horrible and it hindered the flow of the story, which is something terrible since, in my opinion, it's one of the most emotional and beautiful things (something usual with all Chair stories) I have ever worked on. TATO doesn't deserve this, which is why I am working on an improved, revised version of it (using time I don't really have but I don't care, because it will be worth it).
I'm flying up so high, my purple majesty displaying
I've reached a higher place that no one else can make a claim in
I'll take you there, my friend, I'm reaching out my hand, so take it
We are the angels and we are the ones that are praying
Weezer - The Angel And The One
As far as Blair Waldorf was concerned, her parents had never really gotten along. In fact, ever since she was a small girl, her parents had been yelling and bickering at each other constantly. So, Blair had never given much thought to it, always going to Dorota – the kind, motherly polish nanny and maid who had basically raised her – for comfort every time it happened. Young Blair often tried feeling better by believing that her parents' behavior was normal and Dorota had never had the heart to tell her otherwise. Thus, the young Waldorf heiress figured that heated, angry arguments – which usually involved object throwing and insults – were some kind of occurrence constant in every family.
It wasn't until Blair managed to raise herself as the undisputable Queen, which meant she started sleeping over and spending more time at her friends' houses, that she realized how wrong she had been all along.
Sure, parent neglect and terrible parenting were both quite common among Upper East Side families. However, Blair Waldorf soon realized with disappointment that her family was dysfunctional in a more violent, hurtful way: while Serena and her minions were often left to their own devices and pretty much abandoned or shown very little interest from their parents, they had never witnessed the kind of scenes Blair had. This knowledge ingrained itself deep within Blair's chest hurtfully, she hated the idea that her family was worse than her friends'.
Due to this uncomfortable truth, which Blair felt could be a potential weakness for her, she had decided to never speak about her family issues to anyone, not even Dorota. Therefore, Blair Waldorf put even more effort on making appearances be even more perfect: she needed to really be a Queen and, to achieve that, Blair needed to eradicate anything that could indicate that her life was anything other than picture-perfect. She started watching her all-time favorite movies with renewed fascination and found herself admiring Audrey Hepburn even more. She is exactly who I want to be, young Blair thought decidedly, this is the kind of live I want to live.
But Blair Waldorf was just a child. She had just turned twelve years old and sometimes, as hard as she may try, she could not escape the pain she felt every time her daddy and her mom hurled vile words at each other. In those moments, Blair felt no longer a Queen, but a scared girl who wanted to be held and reassured by her parents. At times like these, horrible thoughts gripped her mind and broke her spirit slowly.
"You were an unwanted child"
"They hate each other as much as they hate you"
"They hate you because if it wasn't for you they could have had a clean divorce"
"You are their biggest mistake"
Blair furiously wiped away the moisture in her eyes with one of her many monogrammed silk handkerchiefs and tried to suppress a sob as she once again heard her parents yelling horrible things at each other downstairs. It was the third time that week. Blair bit hard on her lower lip, she hated feeling helpless. She didn't even notice when the soft skin of her lip finally broke. At times like these, Blair usually felt numb.
She didn't even notice when she started tasting blood, its salty, coppery taste mixing in with the taste of her tears in an elixir of sorrow. Blair knew she should not be crying because doing so would be giving in to weakness, which was something she very fiercely refused to do, and, furthermore, it would mean having blotchy cheeks and puffy red eyes. If she cried, she would look ugly and revolting and she would most definitely be acting like the opposite of a Waldorf.
Crying would make Blair Waldorf just another meaningless and emotional coward, utterly unfit to be Queen.
Blair felt so much self-hatred, so much disgust towards herself. This, because as hard as she tried, it had finally been too hard to keep her tears at bay.
She was twelve.
Blair Waldorf rarely ever spent time with her mother. Eleanor had never been a warm person and, in fact, when her baby girl had been born she had a postpartum depression she hadn't seemed to have gotten over. She never tried to be close to young Blair and entrusted her to Dorota, from a very early age. It was no secret that Eleanor hadn't even been bothered to be there for most of the important events in Blair's childhood, all of her time had been consumed by her desire to build a fashion empire: Waldorf Designs.
The almighty Eleanor Waldorf was away in Europe most of the year, too busy working and attending events, too caught up in her brilliant career in the fashion world. A textbook workaholic. Ever since Eleanor could remember, she had been her own toughest critic: as a hardcore perfectionist, she took a bittersweet masochist pleasure in criticizing all of her creations down to the very last detail. Her daughter, Blair, was no exception.
It was no surprise that their mother-daughter interactions consisted mainly in Eleanor's biting remarks about Blair's numerous flaws and her cold criticism about her daughter's appearance. Eleanor never failed to forget that Blair was only a child when judging her as ruthlessly as she would criticize herself.
Nothing Blair did ever seemed to satisfy her mother, or be enough.
Harold Waldorf, on the other hand, was Blair's favorite person in the whole world. She adored her daddy immensely: he was the only parent who seemed to actually enjoy having her around. When Harold wasn't away working or giving in to his extramarital affairs, he was showering attention onto his daughter. He was a bitter man, hating his life and marriage, hiding his true self. Harold lived consumed by guilt, knowing he hurt his daughter daily with his palpable misery and the fierce feuds he often had with his wife. However, Harold tried making up for it constantly in the only way he knew: by spoiling his little girl with expensive gifts. Seeing Blair's wide smile made sophisticated Harold Waldorf feel less like an utter failure.
Blair loved her father not only because of the beautiful things he always bought her, but mostly because she felt that he really cared about and loved her. Furthermore, she felt that Harold's attention more than made up for her mother's coldness and indifference. It was no surprise that Blair's favorite day of the week was Sunday, when she got to spend the whole day with her daddy. Together, they started their Sunday routine by strolling every morning to Central Park and feeding the ducks in the pond.
It had been one of those lazy Sunday mornings when Harold Waldorf had first told his daughter about his college years, the best of his life. Blair had immediately fallen in love with the idea of going to Yale and being just like her daddy. She had been twelve when she started planning and working towards getting in her dream college.
She was twelve when her father talked to her for the first time about divorcing her mother. It had also happened on one of those Sunday strolls, not long after the Yale conversation. When she heard her daddy's words, Blair's young face had crumpled and she couldn't help the single tear that rolled down her cheek. Harold Waldorf's heart nearly broke as he watched his young daughter's reaction. He hated hurting his little girl.
Harold felt like a failure and guiltier than he had ever felt, knowing firsthand the pain that a child went through when their family tore apart. Hence, Harold Waldorf steeled himself and decided to wait a little bit longer, just a few more years, until Blair was away at college. He had faith that once she was away at Yale, whatever would happen in New York wouldn't harm her. Feeling resigned, Harold hugged his tearful daughter tight and thought "Just a little while longer, until she's grown up, I just hope Eleanor and I don't kill each other meanwhile".