He could tell she hadn't expected to see him any more than he had her; as he turned round and they both realised, wide brown eyes filled with shock before she could conceal it.

And he was drinking her in before he could stop himself; the dark eyes, the long lashes, soft skin, the curl of her full lips and the delicate planes of her face; he knew it all, all so achingly familiar, so Blair.

He tried to distance himself; tried to take her in objectively. She was beautiful, exquisite even; a gown of rich green satin, the finest jewelry, dark hair pinned and curled elaborately. But even the way she held herself screamed Blair, and it was his Blair; his glow in those eyes, his flush creeping over those pale cheekbones - every curve was his.

"Chuck." Her tone was formal, her hand held out. She was taking him in too, eyes locked with his.

He stared at her proffered hand, and for a split second he could almost have laughed, because he suddenly recalled doing the exact same thing to that blustering old fool in Vladikavkaz.

Well, what had he expected? An embrace?

So he took her hand in his, which should have been fine. But even that touch; her skin on his, the warmth that passed through them - it was enough to set his blood churning again. To increase the ache tenfold. Because he'd missed her.

"Mademoiselle," he murmured, barely even realising that he still hadn't let go.

"Actually, it's Madame," a voice interjected pointedly. "Baizen."

The briefest flash of irritation crossed both their faces at the interruption, but Blair remembered herself first, pulling her hand free.

"Thank you, Carter."

Her face had closed off again. Chuck saw all the familiar signs; the smoothed forehead and forced smile. But there was something burning, now, in her eyes, even through the mask, as she continued to watch Chuck.

Carter wrapped an arm possessively around her. "Shall we dance, my love?" He was already trying to pull her away, and he looked distinctly annoyed. She followed him without a word.

It was only once she broke her gaze with Chuck - and had moved off with her husband - that Chuck realised he still couldn't identify the burning in her eyes.

Certainly, there was fury there. But he couldn't tell if it was hatred or love that coursed underneath it.

He was willing to place his bets on hatred.

He stayed, and he watched her on the dance floor. Really, he should have left. There was no reason for him to remain in that room. And running away was what he did best. But he couldn't take his eyes off her. He had no choice but to watch her - like a moth drawn to a flame, or perhaps more fittingly, the way a mariner stares at a mermaid as she draws him to his destruction, not caring because the sight is so entrancing.

He eventually managed to stop just drinking her in - hungry for the sheer familiarity of it all, a man starved - to inspect her properly. To take stock. She looked well, if a little pale; perhaps a little too fragile under her fine dress, her features slightly sharper. Judging from her clothes, she had certainly not turned impoverished.

Which moved him to the more pressing matter. Carter.

How? That was the first question. How on earth had she fallen into his clutches? What in hell's name had happened to Nate?

He watched their interaction and soon saw that there was no real love lost between them. Despite Carter's possessiveness, it was obvious he regarded Blair as little more than a prize - and Blair? Blair loathed him; it was written in her stiff posture, in every cold smile she sent his way. Even dancing, she barely let him touch her.

Did it bring Chuck satisfaction? It made sense. If Blair had suddenly decided she was in love with Carter - then she wouldn't be Blair at all, and something must have gone truly wrong. Then nothing would make sense again.

These were the rational arguments that were forming, the detached observations that he forced himself to make. It had long been his principle: in pain and pleasure, the soul took careful stock of all.

But for some reason, watching Carter put his hands on her - knowing that she now belonged to him - it drove Chuck's thoughts down a path that made him only want to twist and torture Carter Baizen till he broke.

And all he could think was that it was his Blair now being led by the other man. That it wasn't fair, because he hadn't seen her for four years - more accurately 1,503 days - and he couldn't speak to her properly. Hadn't even been allowed to hold her hand for longer than a few moments.

And the worst thing?

He had no one to blame but himself.

A trio of girls passed in front of him, and for once, he paid them no notice, other than irritation that they had blocked his view for a second. Carter noticed them, though, and Chuck saw him staring after them, even over Blair's head. He wondered distantly why Carter would even bother when he had Blair in his arms. But then, Carter always had been greedy.

The dance was drawing to a close, and before he could reflect on what he was doing - what was wrong with him today? - Chuck moved across the floor. He tapped Carter's shoulder as the musicians started on the next song, though he didn't bother looking at him.

"May I have this dance?" he addressed only Blair.

Blair gazed back at him.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't refuse, either, and it was all the permission Chuck needed to brush Carter out of the way and take her hand. Carter left, muttering something in disgruntlement. But for the first time, Chuck wasn't concerned with making the other man suffer.

Blair was in his arms now.

She continued to regard him, wordless, as his arm curved around her waist, and her hand rested on his shoulder. Without even a tremor.

"Have you taken a vow of silence?" he enquired as he spun her round.

She arched an eyebrow up at him. He'd missed that. "Maybe I'll speak when I have someone worth speaking to," she retorted evenly.

He couldn't stop the smirk from creeping in. "Well, you're speaking to me now," he murmured back.

She didn't smile.

"Is that really the first thing you thought of saying?" she asked acidly. "Asking if I'd taken a vow of silence? That's the best conversation you could think of after four years?"

He paused, staring down at her. Oh, it was definitely hatred in her eyes.

"Forgive me," he answered. "My conversation skills must have grown rusty. Perhaps after a while of speaking to you they'll remember themselves." He smiled slowly.

"You're too late. I'm already bored," she responded.

He suddenly drew her closer, tightening his grip on her waist. He felt her breath catch, ever so slightly, though she tried to roll her eyes, and he smirked with silent triumph. Her breathing was still hitched, regardless of the expression on her face.

"I think you forget who you're talking to," he whispered against her. Her scent hadn't changed, and it made his blood sing. "I always know when you're lying, Blair. Your eyes have this habit of not matching your mouth." As he said it, he let his eyes trail deliberately down to her lips. He was perfectly aware that he was trying to get at her, get under her skin.

He should have known better.

"I let you dance with me out of politeness," she whispered back. "But if you don't remove your disgusting hands this instant, I'm afraid I might be sick in this very room." The venom in her voice actually caught him off guard for a second, and he loosened his grip, flinching inwardly.

She moved away, and though they continued the dance, there was a safe distance between them now.

Their eyes stayed trained on each other as they glided through the steps.

"So," Chuck said finally, taking care to keep his tone more neutral this time. "Carter Baizen?"

Blair just raised an eyebrow back, saying nothing.

"How did he manage to steal you? Did he murder Nathaniel in a duel?"

She ignored the last question. "He didn't steal me. I married him willingly."

Chuck just stared at her.

"Why?"

She snorted, faintly. "Why not? He's hardly the worst match."

Chuck arched an eyebrow; she couldn't honestly believe that. And since when did Blair Waldorf settle for anything less than the best match?

Her eyes flickered over him coldly. "What? Do you find him arrogant? Dishonest? He's certainly no worse than anyone else I could care to name." His eyes narrowed. "Besides, l believe all the other men ran away."

The comment was aimed at him, but it made him frown instead.

"Nate didn't run away," he stated.

It was her turn to stare. "You don't know?" She laughed, then, though Chuck failed to see what was remotely funny, and doubted she did, either. "Well," she said softly once she'd stopped. "Then I suppose you still haven't learned you're not as clever as you think you are."

Chuck paid the comment no heed, though she'd known it would sting.

"What happened to Nate?" he persisted.

"He eloped. With Serena." She gazed at him, eyes challenging him to pity her. "You can't tell me you're surprised."

"He wouldn't leave you." Nate would never dare go that far; Chuck could have sworn on it.

"Apparently he felt he had just cause to," Blair snapped back. "Once he found out about my little scheme to destroy Serena-"

"Our scheme," Chuck corrected. Something flickered in her eyes, then - before she closed herself off again.

"Well. Suffice to say, he was angry enough to stop feeling bound to me. I'm sure he and Serena are very happy, wherever they are." The sneer on her face didn't disguise the dulled hurt behind her words.

She turned her attention back to the dance, form still rigid.

Chuck swallowed. He wanted to make a comment about clueless blondes and the foolish offspring they were bound to create, but the bitterness in Blair's voice caught him. Because now he'd realised she was as unhappy as he was. And while that should have given him some satisfaction, it didn't.

He enjoyed other people's suffering.

But not Blair's. Never Blair's. He would never wish that on her.

"Blair," he said quietly, watching her. "I'm..."

"What?" she hissed. "You're what?"

There it was; that venom again - furious, burning hate.

He paused. He was never genuine. He never said a single sentence that didn't have a hidden meaning, a device behind it. He had long lost the capacity for noble impulses. So what pressed him now, to apologise - of all things? Apologise for what? The fact that she was as miserable as he was, and it wasn't what he wanted at all?

Blair knew as well as he did that Chuck Bass had never apologised. (Apart from in one note, hidden at the bottom of a locked chest so that it could never be looked at again).

He inhaled, because he was suddenly finding breathing difficult, and he had that lump in his throat again. "If I told you that I was sorry-" he began, voice very low.

"It wouldn't be enough," she finished, cutting him off. She held his gaze, unfaltering. "Not even close."

And then the dance ended, and Carter elbowed his way in, determined to assert his authority. This time, though, Chuck let her go without protest.

He tore his eyes away from her, away from her head raised defiantly and her lips pressed together, watching him leave. He turned away, and strode out of the ballroom before he could see the single, solitary tear that escaped down her cheek.

Thanks to GuardianIzz for her great idea! I'm sorry I couldn't include more of it. And again, thank you everyone for continuing to review :)