A/N: The amount of reviews you guys left me for the last chapter was absolutley insane and every bit appreciated! I can't tell you how great it is to come home and see your email inbox flooded with [ff review] as well as all those subscriptions! Both are amazing and everyone who took the time to tell me what they thought is fabulous! We writers do enjoy knowing what readers think of course and I just don't know what to say other than that (: This went through a few drafts and I'd like to thank wonderful kate2008 for betaing of course. It's absolutley crazy right now because of the olympics being in town so it took a while to get this out but anyway, I hope you like it and happy reading!

I hit you back
you gave a kick
I gave a slap
you smashed a plate over my head
then i set fire to our bed
A kiss with a fist is better than none
-- Florence + the machine

Chapter Eleven:

If there was ever a time to stand up straight and bare her teeth with little regard and every intention, it was now. But, all she could focus her thoughts on was the exhaustion that clung to her shoulders.

Blair dropped on the edge of the bed, arms falling at her sides, a dark curtain of brunette curls obscuring her pale face. Every muscle in her body ached as she pressed her wrists to her forehead, focused on her breathing, deep and slow.

It took time for the anxiety to dwindle down into a dull throb. When she felt calm enough she stood up and stumbled into the bathroom. Mark was late. He hardly worked past six-thirty and all her energy was seemingly invested in not thinking of the reasons why he might still be absent at a quarter to eight.

She started the shower, opening her eyes to the drifting mist. Chuck's image pasted itself to the blacks of her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. The scarf wrapped around his neck, the color of his jacket, every movement and word destroyed, boiled down into its simplest form, and still so complex. His gaze had brushed over everything she worked so hard to keep away from him, now melted and exposed.

Blair peeled off her clothes, stepping under the shower. She worked shampoo into her hair, careful calculated movements as the water drifted down her back. It felt like hours but really it must have only been seconds before she was drawn back into the present.

"Honey?" Mark's voice was weary, echoing off the bathroom tiles.

"In here…" Blair turned off the faucet quickly when he appeared in the doorway. His freshly pressed suit had since crumpled, blonde hair in dismay and grey circles, a prominent feature on his pale face, beneath the blues of his eyes. The sight sprouted a seed of worry in her stomach but she grinned and moved towards him, rolling onto the tips of her feet to peck him on the lips. She pulled back, turning towards the towel rack.

Mark held a hand above his head, as though he had forgotten what he was about to do, fluffing up his hair. Suddenly she tensed, aware of the apprehension that hung heavily in the air around them. "Remember that conference I told you about?" He said.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, a towel in her hands, encircling it around her body. She waltzed into his arms, trying to comb out the details of the last few weeks. It was apparent that the banks of her memory were hollow of everything past this afternoon. She nodded anyway.

"Well," He sighed." Isaac was supposed to go but he cancelled last minute ... so now I have to do it."

A shiver ran down her spine but she shook it off. "Where?"

"Miami" he groaned unhappily, "For five days."

The first thing she thought of was the Basshole. Instinctively, a hand flew to her lips and her stomach lurched, threatening to push up dinner. It had only been a couple hours since their encounter in the park but Chuck was already wedging himself in the spaces, creating voids he could slip into.

"Can't you get out of it?" Blair draped her hands over his shoulders, staring up at his chin. Mark shook his head, "I wish. I already travel the least, you know that."

Her cheeks grew red. Could he not see this as the falling action? If he left everything would be wrenched from the center point of their lives! Chuck would certainly see to that. She backed into the opposite side of the door fame, staring down at her feet. "You're practically the founder and now Pete is just going to make you go because what, he's too busy? Last I checked he didn't have a life."

It had been almost a decade since Blair had woken up one day and realized she wasn't following the plan anymore. She had embarked on a new journey, the path unfamliar as she forged new meaning but it had directed her somewhere beautiful somewhere worth going. And now, Chuck threatened to take that away from her, slip the wedding ring from her finger and attatch so many re-writes to the script that it set her head spinning just to think of the prospect.

What would she do then?

The distance between her and Mark was cold and loud, stretching thin. "Blair," it was soft, falling to the ground in billowing movements. "It's just five days, not even a week. You won't even know I'm gone, neither will the kids - I promise."

Chuck could tie Mark up from here until the end of time if he wanted to, and no doubt he would drag his influence as far as he could to emphasize the standings, to announce without words that he wasn't going to forget or give up. The battle cry had been sounded.

Mark pulled her into his chest, the folds of his shirt. She gulped up his scent in greedy breaths; the familiar pattern of his muscles underneath his flesh, the shape of her husband, her best friend.

Blair held the lapels of his jacket in her fists. "I just hate when you have to go."

He pressed his lips to hers in response, pushing eagerly at her body. They separated with a collective sigh, pushing towards the next task. Two people together and yet apart, stepping in such different directions. It was a solid truth; something Blair knew ... her heart pounding when she realized that it held more meaning than Mark could ever know.

He disappeared into the darkness of the closet and she fell towards the duvet, tucking her knees underneath her chin and hugging her thighs to her chest. He brought out the smallest suitcase and hauled its empty shell onto the bed, starting to fill its base.

"When's your flight?" Blair talked into her knees, observing the way he worked.

Mark was busy arranging folded shirts into one corner, a wisp of blonde hair falling across his forehead. "I'm catching the red eye," He looked up, appraising her curves in their half-naked state.

She bit her tongue, overcome with the desire to explain everything, to map out the web of deceit she had woven. "Well then, I'd better help you." With that she got up and began to search through drawers for the best dress-shirts and ties, distracting herself.

It wasn't much later that he said his temporary goodbye's to the twins. They were sweet words whispered in the dark of night, promises of souvenirs and photographs dropping onto Tula and Henry's laps.

Blair was pulling a shirt over her head when she felt his stare burning circles into her flesh. Smirking, she sauntered over to him in one of his ragged college shirts, swaying her milky hips.

When the taxi they had called left the curb Blair retreated into the house, wrapping the housecoat further around her body. A mug of green tea was cupped between her hands as she climbed the stairs, passing her babies bedrooms, their doors partially opened.

For the first time she wondered if her and Mark were meant to be together or simply criss-crossing each other on the way to something else.

Chuck pushed the food around on his plate, he hadn't eaten anything and wasn't about to. He cast a glance at the glass of scotch sitting on his right, the dining room flooded in a buttery glow.

"So," Abby giggled, "How was work?" He furrowed his brows. He couldn't do this, sit here and talk about work when, for the first time in eight years, he didn't want to. He couldn't be with this woman, could he?

"Fine," He mumbled, his throat was dry and scratchy from lack of alcohol.

"Nothing new and exciting Chuckie?" He grimaced at the name, Chuckie. What was he, some kind of pet? Hardly.

There was nothing to be said. Chuck leaned back into his chair waiting for the moment Abigail would leave him alone; free to burrow comfortably in his office, uninterrupted. Instead, she sipped at her flute of champagne, fussing over it momentarily before pushing back her chair.

He sucked in a breath, hopeful that she wasn't going to carry on this charade. Having to sit there and pretend to enjoy the dinner Abby pretended she'd made was a slow torture. However it was the one thing they'd managed to keep between them that had somehow escaped disposal.

Maybe it was because neither of them dealt much in the nature of reality, preferring instead to feign interest where none lay.

She rounded the table, draping her body over his lap. In one fluid motion she looped an arm around his neck, extending her legs to the side. Her eyes glistened in the near darkness, containing as much intention as was possible to hold.

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes from the curve of her neck. Abby - aware of her movements - turned slowly as though she were unkinking every muscle in her upper body. He was a man yes, but all he could see in her eyes were reflections of the afternoon.

A forgotten past bubbled onto the surface.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

She pouted. "Whatever do you mean?"

Chuck gestured between the two of them. "This isn't of convenience to me anymore." His words were hard, serious. He didn't even know what he was saying but he went with it anyway. "For the past couple of years it was working and now I find it to be ..." He stopped, waiting for the right words to fall onto his lips. "Well, it's simply run its course I guess."

He pressed his mouth to her cheek, inhaling the cheap perfume. The poor girl had never learned the true meaning of proportion, and then he pushed her off of him grabbing the glass of scotch. He started towards his office, lifting the tumbler of alcohol between his fingers when he passed by the bar. There was no need to look back. This was a past he could leave behind; forget without any amount of question, but Blair wasn't.

When Blair was younger she had always said: whenever found in doubt place faith in Audrey Hepburn. It was advice she hadn't thought to use until now. It wasn't so much that she was in doubt and more so that she felt utterly lost, needing to be guided away this maze of secrecy and midnight flights.

Grains of Technicolor broke the darkness, netting her in a sense of continuance, familiarity washing over her thoughts.

While the opening credits rolled, her gaze danced around the room. The space seemed to want more than just her presence and with Mark probably already somewhere over Florida she wondered whether or not he was thinking of her too.

She laughed, feeling silly at catching herself in such a juvenile desire. She knew the glittering lights of the city didn't appear any different from an airplane. It was funny in a way, the effort maintained to stay in the heart of New York with its people, sights and sounds. Home.

But didn't every place in the world hold an aspect of another place, a different time? It was all the same beauty, a concrete jungle of sorts.

She was tired, weak even, from the day's events but her bones still ached to move. She could get up, pack her things, throw her children's belongings into a suitcase and join Mark in Florida, they could make the next step together; she didn't have to face Chuck.

This thought comforted her. All the glitter had rubbed off her skin, the passing of time having left her bare and fresh under the impressions she'd once tried to embody. The days of naivety had been lost, replaced by strands of pears and solid words that didn't fade in the wash.

There was a world between them now and she was someone else. Although he had changed very little, the same sharp brown eyes and shark-like mannerisms.

"Mommy?" The twins stood in the doorway, faces full of sleep. Mark's goodbye kisses were still locked in place on their cheeks as she beckoned them in the door, patting the empty sheets beside her.

They climbed under the covers, snuggling into her sides. Blair dropped kisses on the tops of their heads, the only two things worth fighting for. Henry and Tula - the precious little jewels she'd carved out of a mountainside promising nothing more than its scenery.

Henry yawned into her thigh, his breath warm on her skin. She combed her fingers through Tula's hair. There were whispers and misunderstandings on every surface. "When will daddy be back?" Henry asked.

"In a few days baby."

Tula propped her chin on her hands. She was slightly less enticed by sleep, "Where did he go?"

"Florida," Blair answered. "Now -" She moved to pull the covers over the three of them, "Go to sleep my darlings. I love you."

Henry buried further into the mattress needing no prompting. His snores hardly fractured Holly Golightly's dialogue.

"We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us ..."

As Tula rolled over and the three of them drifted off to sleep Blair knew this wasn't entirely truth. In some little way she would always belong to the girl she once was; the world she had once lived in. The difference lay in the fact that she was no longer that woman and yet she had needed to be her at one point in order to become who she now was. One day her children would realize that they would always belong in some small way to their upbringing and to her.

All this time Holly Golightly had misinterpreted the words. She had spent so much time running from her past that she never took the time to respect it.

With this fresh in her thoughts Blair sat up, pulling the covers from her small frame and scurrying into the hallway. She glanced back into the bedroom, releasing a sigh of relief when the only audible sound above Henry's snores was the movie that had restarted itself. The questions they would ask were left underneath their pillows for another night, questions that she would need to find words enough to answer.

She tip-toed down the stairs and into the kitchen, glancing up at the clock as she tapped her fingers on the phone. She took a deep breath focusing on her purpose as she dialed the number, the one that she hadn't allowed herself to remember until now.

The game was being approached in a new way with a better strategy. The cards needed to be played right this time - too much was at stake.

"Chuck?"

The cell phone rang, breaking the film of silence that drifted throughout the penthouse. Chuck was jolted awake. He cursed, wondering who would call at ... one-thirty in the morning?!

"Chuck Bass," He mumbled, directing his eyes towards the ceiling. He couldn't even remember passing out.

"Chuck?" Blair whispered harshly. He froze, his breathing fractured. It was mere surprise that knocked him to his knees. He had known she wouldn't leave the country now, too invested in the name she had built for herself to leave it all behind, even if she had once upon a time.

"Blair," He was awake now, getting to his feet. "My my, what a surprise."

There was a distant sigh, "Don't."

"What?" He stood in front of the bay window, the city below still stirring in the early hours of the morning.

"Look, we both know why I'm calling."

"Refresh my memory?" He wasn't going to make this any easier. She had kept his children from him; decided on her own that he didn't have the right to know them, he was too angry to let it dissolve at her feet with the simplest of phone calls.

Blair ignored him. "I'm a fairly busy woman Bass." Her voice was flat containing only straight forward concepts holding no deception. "If you want to talk then we can talk. I won't however, let you jeopardize my children's well-being because you're angry at me. This isn't a game ... we're not kids anymore."

"Isn't it about eight and a half years too late for this?" His words were sharp, edged in frustration.

"Do you think I really want to be talking to you right now? Because you're not making it any easier to be civil."

"And that's what we're trying to be," Chuck's words were tumbling over each other. "Is that what we need to be Blair, civil?" They had never been polite with each other in the entirety of their relationship. Chuck and Blair the friends and Chuck and Blair the couple - had both been based on one extreme or the other, there had been no grey areas of unknown.

"I won't let you take them away from me and I won't let you take Mark away from me." Chuck turned his attention to the door, walking towards it. His stomach growled, pronouncing its hunger, his head aching from the alcohol he had consumed earlier.

"I'm not taking anything away from you," He stated. "I'm just getting back what you never let me have." It was the plainest truth he could think to say.

"Let me make one thing clear, this is between you and me so leave Mark out of it."

"Just like you left me out of my children's lives for the past eight years? Let's not fuck around here. The only reason your talking to me now is because I caught you." He snarled; his breathing was heavy as he searched through the fridge, trying to give himself something else to focus on.

"Get over yourself!"

"Gladly," he retorted, setting leftovers onto the counter.

"You didn't even know what you wanted then."

"No -" He interrupted, "You didn't know what I wanted. You made the decision for me."

"I knew that you didn't want a baby."

"I wanted you Blair; I wanted every little bit of you, the whole thing. I loved you."

"Sometimes love isn't enough" she countered, her voice weak.

"I guess it isn't," he acknowledged, "But it could have been." If she wanted to talk he would talk, it wasn't like he didn't have anything to say.

"I'm not going to let you do this …"

"All I want is to know them - to have a chance. Don't think I won't do what I need to in order to have that happen."

"You wouldn't …" She stated, "You couldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" He was the father of her children, one half of the equation. There was no room for debate. The twins were his only offspring and he wasn't about to abandon them, the idea of them, the reality of their existence, like his father had done with him in so many ways.

"You don't know me Chuck, you don't know them. No matter what happened you have no right to break apart my family, their family."

"Truth is Blair; you already did that for all of us, didn't you?"

"Grow up Basshole," and then the line went dead. Maybe neither of them had changed as much as they believed they had, he thought.

Chuck put the cell phone back into his pocket, peeling off his vest as he walked towards the bedroom. Eight years earlier he hadn't known there was a battle to be fought and now that he knew he wouldn't simply walk away because Blair Waldorf had asked him to.

He was Chuck Bass after all and that still meant something … didn't it?