A/N: Several bowls of cheerios later, I'm back! Can someone say, wowhugehaitusmuch? Anyway, I missed you guys and I know a few of you have PM'd me, eager to get on with this story, so I hope that this update is worth it for you as much as it was worth it for me to get on with writing it. I want to thank nondescriptf for cleaning up this thing for me and giving me some amazing feedback that not only helped to round out the chapter but also kick started me on the next one (I may have to keep you if you'd be okay with that.) Which also means I may have an appropriatley timed Christmas gift for y'all. I am all about the reviews from my fantastic readers (that's you) so please send me some good ones? I had a crap day at work today ): ONTO THE READING. Ps. We are slowly but surely getting there.

Wasted hours before we knew
Where to go and what to do
- Arcade Fire

Chapter Twenty-one:

There was something of scandal in everything that had happened, like rows of lights that you could see but were still blurred by distance. So much ran across the page as if water-marked and dog eared, too exhausted in itself for an explanation.

One upon a time, Eleanor Waldorf had been the picture of composure, always seen with pearls around her neck and beautiful teeth. Her resolve had been colder than steel then, stronger and lengthier too. She had passed little of this onto her daughter.

It was the conclusion that Blair was only beginning to unfold at the ripe age of twenty-eight. It hadn't been enough that she'd come to know everything separate in her life, watched it divide slowly and split down the middle, a gentle erosion of trust. She couldn't bare the thought of it.

She had been thinking about it all afternoon, the day that Dorota had taken her aside. She remembered it the way a toddler recognized shapes and colors, the details were more interesting than the whole, but she couldn't think of much. She was worried, light headed with the idea of having to explain it to her children, how she could go about with an explanation that completed, rather than destroyed, all of their memories.

Dorota's expression had been clear like the pond in Central Park, disinterested in the rocks that might later be thrown by silly kids, as she'd said that Harold and Eleanor were divorcing. They had fallen apart like a doll, half broken before the carelessness had involved itself.

She shuddered as Tula and Henry, a few steps ahead of her, broke the silence with laughter, trudging up the stairs to the house. She could barely hear the words, caught instead on the gleam of Mark's car on the corner, sitting there so simply.

The kids shook the rain from their coats, peeling off their winter boots with grimaces of effort. She locked the door and kicked off her shoes, leaning against the frame.

It was difficult to stay in one piece when everything was falling apart around her. She had tried to remember her mother after her father had moved out, but she'd been too young then, wrapped up in the naivety of youth, the memories were bits and pieces of nothing significant.

Cigarettes, silk kimonos and glasses of vodka graced the grand piano. Eleanor's drinks had always left water marks that Dorota seemed to shine away before anyone could have taken notice.

Then there was Mark, the bright eyed boy she'd known for the better part of her adult life. He had seen her in the pages before she had even been drawn out, the mere outline of what she could become. He had been the sculptor of this Blair, the one that had brought her into something more of a person than she had been before.

The world they had built over the past, however many years, was broken apart so quickly by the facts. The facts had slid between pillars of their relationship like gum, breaking down the material.

She blinked, knowing that he was in front of her now, naturally enough. He was somewhat like the echo of rain against the windows.

"Dad!" The twins launched themselves into his arms and for a few moments she was unsure of who said what.

He brushed a kiss to each of their heads, "Hey guys." Every action seemed a sigh.

He was quick to keep his words light. "Did you guys have a fun weekend with Auntie and Uncle?"

"Yeah," Tula quirked an eye, "They were pretty cool."

"What did you do?" He asked.

"Watched movies and baked stuff," Henry added.

"Sounds like loads of fun."

They nodded and after a moment that seemed to last several eternities, he set them on their feet.

Blair raised an eyebrow, "Homework ... now." They were already behind as it was.

The pouts rose to the surface, "But momma," Tula cried.

Henry was already trudging up the stairs, more eager for hockey practice than the several pages of homework that weighed down his backpack.

She touched Tula's cheek. "The faster you're done, the faster you'll be at ballet, honey bee."

With a grumble of compliance, the two of them slunk up the stairs, little lumps of mud, with the promise of everything that awaited after the hard work. If only she had faith like that left for herself.

"Everything's in the laundry room, I want you both down here in forty-five minutes!" She called.

He was still standing there when she turned around, the orbit that she couldn't resist. She wanted to wade into all of it gently, like testing the temperature of the ocean before she dived in. He was impossible to see through now, all the signs she'd always looked for had been washed away by indifference.

He was bent over the table, shoulders hunched forward and the silence was killing them. Blair opened the fridge, simply for the noise alone and the distraction of movement. She moved to the counter, pulled out the kettle and turned on the faucet.Normal enough.

At some point, Mark sat down and folded his hands over the table. And for the first time in ever, he was a blank piece of paper without any writing; she didn't know how to speak with whatever was there.

The anger pushed against the walls, no matter how quietly they both inhaled and exhaled, it fell around them. They both knew that they needed to be apart now.

Blair grew flustered, gesturing with empty hands, things she couldn't think of. Mark opened his mouth and closed it over whatever words sat on his lips.

"I don't want to go through this until they leave," She finally said.

He nodded without looking at her, agreeing.

After a time, the doorbell rang and the children were shuffled into the car, quick kisses and a cup of tea later, Mark and Blair Hutlen were alone. She had looked away as Mark had said goodbye to the children, like he might never see them again, as if she could be that cruel. He was a part of them, a part of her, of everything.

"Did you think that I'd feel differently?" His voice was gruff, it startled her that he'd said anything at all. T

When she didn't respond, he kept on his tangent. "I mean, how did you honestly fucking think all of this was going to go?"

She didn't know what to say.

"I haven't seen you in two days, you didn't even call."

"Why would I call?" He bit back laughter. "I don't owe you anything."

And then she was near to him, so close she could smell his hair. "You're right, but you could have had some decency!"

"Decency? Right. I forgot that you know all about that."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes fell on her then, clear, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"You do?" He sneered. "You're not going to take them away from me," He added. "I have rights."

And there it was, boiled down and separated. He was going to try and pull apart everythingthis way. Like everything had been nothing more than a young heiress running from her lover with only his children to remember their relationship by. If it had been that cut and dry, clean lines of lost time and failed romance, she would have waited for Chuck. It hadn't worked that way though, nothing much ever did.

She wouldn't have allowed herself to build another life and love another as completely as she loved Mark all this time. And yet, she still said nothing.

"I can think whatever the fuck I want," He said, trying to convince himself.

"I know," She replied, trying to listen without drawing herself in circles, she stirred and let out a breath.

"I'm not going to take them away from you Mark; you're the only father they've ever known."

"That son of a bitch can hire every lawyer in the city," He said, "I don't fucking care."

"He will probably," She agreed, trying to keep her voice light even though she felt as though the weight of all the air in the room had fallen on her shoulders. "I won't let him do that to you, I promise."

He scoffed. "What the hell does that even mean anymore? Don't make promises Blair, they don't suit you."

She reached out, felt the need to show him that she was still there, that she wasn't just going to change her mind.

"I love you," She said it before she could stop herself, "I always will."

He pulled away, turned his entire body to the window, rubbed at his chin in thought. And for a moment she thought he might cry, she felt the tears threaten her own eyes and she was grasping at composure, screaming inside for something to make sense.

"You never did," He blinked, "That's the funniest part of this whole thing, I mean really. If you had, then you would have told me all this from the beginning."

"I didn't know it was going to be this way," She pleaded, "You have to believe me."

"You still love him," And the way he said it, it wasn't a question.

She shrugged her shoulders, dismissed it. It wasn't important in the definition of their marriage. Chuck had been a ghost, only finding his way between her thoughts in the last nine years through moments of weakness, aside from recent months.

"I'm really trying," She strained. "I couldn't explain to you anything that happened in a way that would make you any less angry. I loved you and neither of us were ready." He opened his mouth to protest but she gave him a cold look, willing him to hear her. "I didn't go into this thinking that you were just a part of some lie that I was forced to believe. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you they weren't yours, I should have the moment I knew. But the important thing, maybe the only thing is, would you have loved me any less? Would you have loved them any less?"

Something flickered across his features but it was just a flash.

"No, but that isn't the point. This whole fucking thing is a betrayal Blair, how can you not see that?"

"I do," She said. There was nothing else to it.

"Besides," He added with a backwards glance, "Don't fucking apologize, I'm not going to forgive you for this. Don't do yourself any god damn favours."

"You don't have to fucking take it," She argued, "But I said it so leave it."

She felt herself distancing from the ideal, her words were hotter now, inflated by her own anger and resentment.

She flinched as he pushed his chair back, the scratch of wood against linoleum.

"What do you want from me then?" He asked.

What did she want? Even she couldn't answer, didn't know the right way to go about it.

"I just want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you."

It was almost sickening the look in his eyes then. "Well, it's too late for that now."

And a part of her yearned to explain herself, lay everything out neatly and hope that somehow she could make him understand the smallest piece of it all.

"When we really got to know each other, I had just gotten out of this huge relationship with someone that I'd been very much in love with."

She saw him curl his lip.

"You were something else entirely, the as contrived as that sounds, you were the light at the end of the tunnel. You made me happy, I made you happy. It was quick and simple and I relished in the minimalism of it all. I liked knowing your thoughts, I liked being able to depend on you, to know you how no-one had. I wanted to start over with you, it was never about running away. I know it probably seems like that, the whole England thing, it was just my idea of trying to introduce myself to this life with you that I wanted, that I knew I could have if I really gave it space to grow."

"At what point did you forget everything else?" He was further away now. She ignored it.

"You were the only person I could imagine marrying and if you think that this whole time, I've been in love with someone else, you couldn't be more wrong. It's been you all this time, just you. Please Mark, I don't need you to treat me like some kind of disease for it."

The seconds ticked on. "Every day of our marriage has been a lie," He stated, "It changes nothing."

She leaned forward. "One thing in our life wasn't genetically yours but in every other way, you have to know that Henry and Tula, they belong to you as much as they belong to me."

"Don't bother Blair," He sighed. "Justification is just a waste of both our time. All these years you say you loved me, you say that you needed me, well where was it when you decided to lie to me? to wake up ignoring that my heart was hanging in the balance?"

"Sometimes we do stupid things," She said. It wasn't the best way to reply but talking altogether had started to require more effort.

"You've been seeing himhaven't you?" Mark peered at her then and she felt naked, like he knew everything she had been thinking.

She did her best to swallow the lump in her throat but it lingered. "We've spent a little time together with the kids."

It was then that Mark lost it entirely. His breathing became ragged, his eyes wide, every piece of him she could have collected suddenly lost to the wind.

"All those years I didn't see it but I can see that girl in you now."

"What the hell are you talking about?" She said.

"The pretty little princess!" He yelled, "The fucking darling daughter who could do no wrong. The selfish little bitch who had everything handed to her. It's all you, it's always been you! You do whatever the fuck you want and then you expect nobody to notice!"

She stood up.

"Everything between us was a mistake!" He was still yelling, growing red in the cheeks. He picked up the crystal vase, full of roses and threw it with all his might when she began to walk away. He grabbed at her arm, holding her in place.

"I hate you," He whispered, it was moving between them and when he let her go, his hand print remained.

And all she could think of as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, was that she had been two days away from buying a ticket to France, from moving in with Harold. If she had just listened to herself then, sensed the danger in staying.

"I'm sick of everything about you and pretty soon everyone else will be too!" He called after her, standing at the foot of the stairs. His words swirled about and fell at her back, defeated. She had already given up on everything else he had to say.

The tears were unstoppable. She could barely see, much less think.

The sound of car tires against ashphalt as Mark had angrily departed, still rung in her ears. As she clutched the phone in her hand, quite unsure of her own actions, Blair took a shaky breath and dialled the only number that came to mind. It rang three times before he picked up.

"Hello?" He sounded busy, irritated by the little inconvenience.

"Hi," She breathed and some part of her was released with it.

When he said nothing, she continued. "Chuck? It's Blair ..."

"I know," He replied.

She tried not to sound sad, like the words needed more explanation than they were worth.

"What's going on?"

What was going on? Nothing ... everything ... something.

"Can you just do me a big favour?" She leaned against the headboard, raised her chin and wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her sleeve.

"Probably not, but what is it?"

"I know I shouldn't be calling you," She rambled, "But I couldn't think of anyone else."

"...Okay."

"Okay.." And in some way it was a silent agreement.

"Say something?" She pressed.

"What do you want me to say?" He sighed.

She imagined this wasn't easy for anyone involved. Mark was right. She was just a selfish bitch.

"Anything. The weather even, tell me about it." She was grasping at straws, feeling them slip away with every second she wasted trying to catch them. So much in her life felt that way, she couldn't imagine what she had put Chuck through in all this, she couldn't let herself think of it now. But with every word, her despair lessened a little, the tears were getting easier to fight.

There was a long pause where everything seemed to suspend itself, wondering if it would stay that way and for how long.

"So this rain," Chuck mumbled, "It really is something."

And if nothing else, Blair Waldorf could base herself in his words alone. The conversation lasted only long enough to remind her that she wasn't the only one in all of it, fighting to find herself.