Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl, just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.

A/N: Fast update for me (gasp) but anyway I need to clear up some time-line issues. Alright, so in regards to the flashbacks - if it a specific date is mentioned at the top of the scene (such as in chapters 5 & 6) then the entire chapter (unless otherwise specified) is a flashback. I doubt I will do whole chapter flashbacks anymore but we shall see. Also, the scenes that are entirely in italics are memories (where the date is not at the top) it is simply because the date and time is irrelevant to the story but important to character development. Those scenes that are important by way of date and time will always have marks at the top of them. Everything that happens between Chuck/Blair in the flashbacks occurs between 2009-2010 unless otherwise specified.

PS. At first I wasn't going to extend the previous scene but it was itching to be written and so sometimes you have to ignore your chapter outlines! I couldn't have found the inspiration to write so quickly if it weren't for my fabulous reviewers and I'd like to extend thank-you's not only to those who did so for the last chapter but also the 'regulars.' You know who you are (; This chapter is unbeta'd - apologies in advance for any distracting errors if there are any.


I love you
I hate you
I love you
I hate you
I can't keep my hands off you.
If you think that I'll let you go
you're out of your mind.
-- Frou frou

Chapter Eight:

Chuck stood against the wall, his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was an odd sight for Abigail to come across as she stopped in front of him, the taffeta material on her dress swishing with each step.

"Charles, Chuck –"He didn't want to be interrupted, especially by her, the square face and small eyes that conveyed nothing.

He blinked, moving away from the hallway but not any closer to the bedroom and its closed door. She smiled but it was faint, daggers drawn in her eyes, as she threaded her hand through his.

"Where have you been – and," it was almost as an afterthought, "where's the champagne you went to grab?"

He dropped a hand to her waist, buying time to think of an excuse, how long had he been with Blair? It felt like mere seconds, but the best things in life seemed shorted in comparison to everything else.

"I got sidetracked." She watched his mouth, saw the pink shade of his cheeks then slowly, as though she were thinking over every word, "Never mind then. The first course is already being served; we can't leave our guests alone too long."

His head was throbbing with the utter reality of seeing Blair so soon after their quickened intimacy; knowing the torture in having to bear public moments with her.

Why did he have to do this to himself, could he not just leave things as they were? He had been selfish in initiating something that was surely plaguing her with guilt.

He imagined her sitting at the table, unable to look at him, to see the man who forced his love upon her like a one way street.

She was drunk – he had taken advantage – whether or not she kissed him back it didn't matter. He suddenly hated the way he had gone about her, as if he belonged in her life. Chuck hardly gave thought to what it would mean now, if there would even be enough space for him.

For five minutes of nothing, of silence and forlorn stares, a kiss better left hollow, Blair had provoked the eighteen year old boy in him. At her fingertips he was a fish on dry land – flopping helplessly – between what he wanted and what he already had.

What he had given up in the series of choices that had ultimately led away from her.

Abigail tugged him by the hand through the apartment and into the dinning room. He dragged his feet across the hardwood and tripped over the lip of the dinning-room threshold. Maybe he had under-estimated his own alcohol consumption.

She made him a lousy drunk, a lousy liar and a man who wanted her with all he had, couldn't she see it in his eyes, the way he moved? He had always needed her to be his.

Sauntering into the room, his hands in his pockets, Chuck sat down at the table. In earnest he was careful to avoid glancing over at Blair who hadn't looked up from her wine glass. The long pale lashes, her breathing, he concentrated on anything to assure his insecurities that she wasn't just going to leave.

"Hey Chuck, I was just telling your wife about the contract."

He shot a look at Abby, "What? I'm interested in what you do baby." He rolled his eyes.

All around him the air crackled with ignorance and he was all too familiar with the practice. On the Upper East Side there was nothing more clear to it's patrons than the nature of action. If you pretended something didn't exist, and you were convincing enough, there was little resistance to be met with.

The complex web of attraction between them had melted down into a singular word and thrown atop the accumulated pile. Behind closed doors there was nothing more to be found than faded memories and ripped pictures.


Blair was squeezing Mark's hand so hard beneath the table that he managed to wriggle out of her grasp, his fingers purple, with a low wince of pain. Her heart was beating wildly against her ribcage and she feared that, if nothing else, her own body would give her away.

Surely Mark would look into her eyes and know what she had done, feel her guilt like a blow to the head and leave her forever. Her skin crawled at the thought, how could she have jeopardized everything?

A fleeting jaunt down memory lane, another man's lips pressed against hers and she had transgressed, turning into a thoughtless teenager as though it were natural. And for the first time in ten years, Blair felt the distinct knowledge of putting her marriage and her children at risk, as something she could hardly control.

The force of love, the sprouting strangle of lust was something she thought she had overcome. A lesson learned that didn't need to repeated. Expecting to trust herself around a man she could never trust years earlier with the naivety of a sixteen year old.

Her life was like being in a dark room, alone and shuffling along the walls trying to find the light switch. She was stumbling over herself – and had nothing planned – it was all just figuring itself out as she went along.

Mark was biting into a piece of chicken, his slender arms holding the fork at his lips, the same lips she had kissed every day for so many years. The man she had promised herself to, the man she trusted, who was currently engrossed in conversation with the man she had once given herself wholly too.

Was there much of a difference anymore?

Straightening into the back of her chair she lowered her eyes to the plate and began picking away at the half-cold dinner. As if she could, in any way, she tried to comfort herself with the notion that everyone was entitled to a mistake now and again.

It was fleeting warmth in the cold of night.

That's all her and Chuck had ever been, a mistake clear and pure, right?

Mark's cell phone rang so close to her hand that rested on his thigh she jumped. He cast a passing look at the ID before accepting the call. Quickly he excused himself from the table, disappearing into the kitchen.

Chuck's eyes followed her every move while Abby – ever observant – rested her head on his shoulder. Blair smiled, swallowing the last bite of steak hard.

There was silence, an agonizing quiet that stretched across the room and worried her. The emptiness that surrounded Chuck, the thoughts and emotions spinning around the room like spoken words.

She knew then what she had refused to accept, one day it would all fall out of orbit and crash to the ground.

"Blair," Mark poked his head out of the kitchen, "it's the kids."

Maybe that time was now; her grip on the wine glass loosened. She was still, careful not to breathe too quickly should she scream. Hadn't Dorota been instructed to not let them call tonight? Apparently not.

Everyone was staring, waiting for her to move. And in the moment it took to lose herself she was found, flashing a gracious smile.

"Will you excuse me?" With those words she got up and walked towards Mark, taking the phone from his hand.

There was no reason to worry. She had fished herself out of oblivion, clawed out of the dreamy film that layered over plates of food and glasses of wine. Her husband was reality, her children were her life.

Chuck had given her everything, nothing they had done together had been so much of a mistake that it didn't matter – even now.

They would always have that – even if he didn't know the full extent of it – she loved him only as she could, the way she needed to. They would forever be joined by the past, the same thing that now separated them.


There it was, the reason one Chuck Bass needed – funny it wasn't what he thought it would be – but it was there none the less. The reason was real and alive and a plural which meant more than one.

He should have known better, there was always something if you looked hard enough; he just hadn't been looking closely.

Blair was a mother, she had children and although he considered himself a ruthless business man he was everything but someone who would tear apart a marriage like that.

His thoughts were poached by Abby's excited squeal as Mark and Blair walked back into the room, taking their seats.

"You have children? Oh how wonderful!"

All of the colour drained from Blair's face, she fiddled momentarily with a fork. Mark shifted in his chair, happy and oblivious to his wife's obvious discomfort.

"Aha yes we do," he said proudly.

Chuck narrowed his eyes, how many late nights and early mornings had he spent in previous years with a feeling that one day he would be the father of Blair's children?

"How many? "Abby asked, "If you don't mind me asking."

Mark grabbed Blair's hand and she looked down at his arm with a sigh, barely detectable on its own.

"Twins," he said, "a boy and a girl."

"Twins – oh wow – that must be a lot of work."

Mark looked over at Blair who remained tight lipped and still, Chuck could see that he was wondering why she hadn't said anything – asking her in the unseen gestures between man and wife - what was wrong.

"Yes well we don't have a nanny; Blair's a stay at home mom."

It was like trying to fit the wrong puzzle piece into the right spot, realizing that with another try it would fit perfectly into the picture.

"No we don't," she finally looked up, her eyes on her husband before turning towards Abby, "and it's worth every second."

There was something he wasn't catching, something in her eyes that he couldn't see properly. Her eyes passed over him as though he were invisible, as though she were trying to keep something quiet.

He guessed it was embarrassment at having to discuss the real way in which she had moved on, the roots she had grown elsewhere, and he was overcome with the strong urge to hold her.

Chuck wanted nothing but her happiness and if this was it then he would take it and hold it close – protect it for her at any cost.

"Their names are Tula and Henry and their eight." He tuned into the conversation long enough to pick that up. Abby had been firing off questions for two minutes straight without abandon.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrogating" Abby lamented, "it's just that Chuck and I are trying to have a baby."

Another indecipherable look passed through Blair's features, she tightened her hold on Mark's hand and looked towards the window. How he wished he could know what she was thinking, know how she felt in that moment, see Blair? I'm moving on too - you're not the only one.


He must have seen this movie at least seventy times in the last four years; he knew the dialogue, caught all the references and had been to all the very same monuments. What puzzled him was not beyond what the movie meant or how well he knew it but why, after so many hours logged in watching it, Blair still seemed uncertain of the plot.

She settled further into his arms, popping a few kernels in her mouth, then, just as Gregory Peck put his hand in the "Mouth of truth" she held her breath, as though she didn't know the outcome by heart, and shreiked as he pulled it out, apparently handless.

And for a moment she too pretended to be as shocked as Audrey Hepburn before Peck revealed his practical joke with a few haughty laughs. She giggled at her own reaction, looked at Chuck and went back to munching on popcorn and tracing shapes on his shoulder.

By the end of it, Blair was crying and in the darkness, her tears looked like droplets of diamonds, rolling off her cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hands in hasty movements, leaning into her hair, "You okay Waldorf?"

"Yes" she sighed, just as the credits started to roll, eyes still glued to the screen, "I'm fine Chuck. This movie always gets me emotional, you know that."

"Why?" He asked, his lips resting on her cheek, "You know she doesn't end up with him."

She turned, her eyes searching his own, "I'm not crying because it's sad. I'm happy for them because it happened and I know that it's just a movie but whatever."

"You've seen 'Roman Holiday' so many times Blair, I don't get how it always surprises you."

"I don't know" She said, "It sounds kind of stupid but – no – never mind."

"What"

"It's just – oh it's so stupid – but I always think it's going to have a different ending. Like she'll just get up and go with him because that's what she wants."

"Is that what you'd do?"

She smiled, there was nothing but the sound of their breath, "If it were you then yes." With that he kissed her, none the more enlightened on the subject but evermore in love with the girl who's favourite movie involved a foreign princess.

And they made love while the movie repeated - neither willing to stand up and turn it off.