'The day after you stole my heart, everything I touched told me it would be better shared with you'.

Carter had pulled Blair out of the limo and shut the door before Chuck could so much as attempt to follow them out. And now the two of them were climbing the elevator to the Waldorf penthouse.

Home.

Blair drew a deep breath as the doors slid open. Six years she'd managed not to set foot in this place. Her grip was tight round her purse as she moved out first.

The amber marble columns were exactly the same, the glossy tiles beneath her feet. All the furtniture in exactly same the same place and the same faint smell of expensive floor wax. But all of it seemed somehow smaller since she'd last been here. The piano where Eleanor had used to insist she took her lessons, where Harold would occassionally belt out a tune when Eleanor was in a good mood - she remembered it as larger. More imposing. She remembered her hands shaking with concentation as she sat on the high stool, legs dangling as she strove to play as well as her daddy.

There were no hydragenas in any of the china vases. Carter wasn't home enough to bother with flowers, and they looked strangely bare on their elegant tables.

"Dorota doesn't work here any more?" Blair murmured as her gaze swept the room. She avoided the framed family portrait on the mantelpiece. (She rememered the photograph; remembered sitting very still with her hands on her lap while the cream collar of the dress Eleanor had picked out dug into her neck).

Carter shrugged. He'd already set down their bags. "Last I heard, she married a doorman. I think she's got kids of her own now."

Blair tried to ignore how weird that thought was. What had she expected, after all? The maid to hang around an empty penthouse? Carter had used to drive the poor woman crazy, and as a result she'd been far easier for Blair to manipulate. But she still remembered the maid tucking them both in at night, Carter slouched on the end of her bed as she told them both Polish fairytales he pretended to be too cool for.

"Why?" Carter drawled now. "Do you need a nanny?" He arched a brow at her and she rolled her eyes back.

"Why would I need a nanny when I've got you?" Her smile was sweet. She paused as she crossed the room, reaching the chaise longue where Eleanor had always sat to receive guests. Blair had sat in the same place to watch the guests at her parents' wake, shifting on the silk cushions and wishing she could cry. The blown-up, smiling photos of her mother and father and the hundred people she barely knew in black had just left her cold. She hadn't cried till she'd started hanging up her own black dress and realised Eleanor wouldn't be there to tell her off for its creases. She looked back at her brother now. "You haven't redecorated in six years? Lily must have a fit everytime she comes over."

Carter pulled a wry face. "She knows better than to interfere with Eleanor Waldorf's taste." It came out a little more bitter than he'd intended - like changing anything in their home would be seen by everyone as an insult to Eleanor's memory.

"Mother was never behind the times," Blair said, softly.

They were both silent for a moment as they exchanged a glance. They rarely spoke about their parents. Even to each other. One of Blair's therapists had told her once that talking about their memories was important; that they needed to cherish all the good moments they'd had with Eleanor and Harold.

The problem was that as soon as Blair started trying to think about the good memories, she'd remember another piece of her mother's criticism or another one of her parents' muted, teeth-grinding arguments where Eleanor snapped and Harold failed to console. You were never supposed to think ill of the dead, but it wasn't guilt. It was the knowledge that she wanted even those moments back.

Carter had the tendency to turn any reference about their parents into a dark and probably inappropriate joke, which Blair preferred - it was the only way either of them could usually approach the topic.

She exhaled. She could walk through every room of this penthouse and lose herself in pointless memories - what would it achieve?

"I'm going to unpack," she announced. "At least now I've got proper wardrobe space again."

Carter's mouth twisted faintly; she picked up her bag, heading off with a smirk in his direction. The smirk faded a little as she reached the stairs. She'd have to face her room sooner or later. And if Carter had managed to live in the building all this time, then so could she. She ignored the empty vases.

She was home now.

Chuck had been planning on texting Blair to ask if he could sneak round later - or, better yet, if she could sneak round to his, since Evelyn wouldn't be back from the Hamptons till tomorrow and he had the place to himself.

But he got home to discover that he didn't have the place to himself.

The cleaning staff were scurrying around the penthouse, the study door ominously open and studiously avoided. Chuck could hear the curt, quiet voice snapping into the phone.

Bart was back.

He knew better than to interupt his father, but he approached the study anyway as he heard the phone call wrap up. Why was Bart back so soon? Before he could glance in to see Bart himself emerged from the room. His blue eyes were cool as he regarded the boy, his suit crisp as ever.

"Chuck." He only called him Chuck because Evelyn called him Charles - Chuck was sure of it. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Not out of any endearment, of course; it was just another way for the two of them to stake their barely controlled hatred for each other.

"Father." Chuck's eyes flickered over him. It had been a long time since he'd acted with anything but indifference towards the man - he was only following the precedent that Bart had set. "How was Singapore?"

"Thailand," Bart corrected crisply. He didn't answer the question. "I understand your mother bought you an apartment."

Chuck's lip curled. "A three million dollar penthouse, actually." He sneered only because he knew how much Bart hated to waste money. Almost as much as Evelyn enjoyed it. Conversations with his father always, inevitably ended up with Chuck being as deliberately rude as possible - even though he knew it accomplished nothing. There was just something about the man's impassive face that ignited the need to provoke. He didn't realise how exactly like his mother he looked even now, dark eyes slanted and mouth twisted as he regarded the man.

Bart's brow tightened, imperceptible. "I'm aware of how much it cost. Thank you. We have a meeting with the owners of that hotel on fifth tomorrow," he went on. "I don't suppose you bothered looking at the specs I emailed while you were partying in Ibiza?"

"I meant to thank you for the airport reading," Chuck drawled.

Bart did not look amused. "Vaccation's over, Chuck. And you're not in high school any more. If you really want to work at Bass Industries you'd better start being serious."

Chuck just rolled his eyes.

But he was aware that Bart had showed no inclination of including him in this meeting before. His father rarely bothered involving anyone in business decisions, let alone the future inheritor of his company. Unless, of course -

"Did another one of mother's affairs get out?" Chuck enquired. "Is that why I need to start being so serious? I assume we're going for a united family front again."

He ignored the savage twist of frustration as Bart didn't even flinch. As expected, his face was inscrutable as ever. "Watch your tone."

"Why?" Chuck sighed idly, glancing round the room. "Are you being followed by a reporter?"

His father's eyes narrowed. "Just make sure you're at that meeting." He turned back into the study and the door snapped shut behind him.

Chuck scoffed.

But he knew things were only going to get worse tomorrow when Evelyn got back.

Blair had kept herself occupied most of the day unpacking and sorting her clothes from boarding school. She was in definite need of a shopping trip before she started at Columbia - she still had awful little girl dresses from when she was twelve hanging in her closet.

Carter, for once, wasn't out. (She had a strong suspicion he was keeping an eye on her.) They'd ordered in from Caviatellis and spent the evening watching movies; Carter had even, grudgingly, let her put on Tiffany's. Though he'd spent most of it rolling his eyes and making inappropriate comments. Pretty much the same as around ten years ago, when Blair's Hepburn obsession had first started.

Still, they hadn't done anything like that, together, in about as long.

But it was gone midnight now and Blair was alone in her room. Even with the lights on, the deep blue walls that she'd once loved felt oddly dark and oppressive. She'd had a long bath, washed her hair, moisturised and changed into a set of skimpy silk pyjamas - anything to put off going to bed. She was obviously far too used to boarding school's ridiculous single beds, because at the moment her own four poster looked so big she thought it might engulf her.

She told herself not to be so stupid.

Actually, she'd forgotten to floss. She should really do that before she went to sleep. She was just heading back into the bathroom when her phone went.

In bed yet, Waldorf?

She couldn't stop the faintest of grins as she texted back, even as she reflected that the perve was no doubt imagining her in bed right now.

Wouldn't you like to know?

The answer came almost immediately.

Yes. And then another beep. But only if you tell me what you're wearing.

Her mouth curved as she moved into the bedroom, flossing now the last thing on her mind. Who says I'm wearing anything?

He was on the line within a few seconds.

"I'm coming round."

She dropped onto her bed, and her previous fear was forgotten at the low drawl of his voice. "Maybe I'm tired, Bass," she purred back. "After that long car ride this morning."

"Then I can promise you'll be exhausted come tomorrow." It was a growl against her ear. She smirked and opened her mouth to answer - and then her door opened, and Carter stuck his head round.

"Who are you talking to?" He was very aware of the late hour. (But he also knew this was the first time she'd slept in this room since she'd used to wake up every night sobbing, and what Evelyn had said was playing on his mind).

His sister looked quite at ease now, however, stretched back on the bed with her cell phone as she rolled her eyes at him. "Serena."

Chuck was muttering down the line to her. "Carter's there? Why the hell isn't he out?"

Carter arched a brow. "Is she having some kind of crisis that needs a midnight phone call?" he enquired.

Blair raised an eyebrow right back. "Would I tell you if she was?"

That made his mouth twitch, just a little. "See you in the morning, sis."

"Don't let the door hit you on your way out," she smiled sweetly. They exchanged another eye roll - she did look fine, Carter decided - before he left.

"Sorry," she murmured into the phone. "Looks like a house call is out of the question."

"Remind me why I'm friends with your brother?" he griped.

She smiled softly. "Don't worry. If you behave," her tone was light, "I'll make sure he's out tomorrow."

She could feel his mouth curve down the phone at the promise. "Well, in the meantime..." His voice tilted. "Care to tell me exactly what you're not wearing?"

She couldn't stop the faint grin as she dropped back down onto the comforter, cell still curled against her ear.

The phone was still gripped in her hand by the time she woke up, sweating, a couple of hours later. She fumbled blindly for the bedside lamp. When it finally came on, it threw shadows against the walls that were now almost back in the darkness. Her cheeks were wet.

This had been exactly where she was seven years ago, when her sleep had been disturbed by the elevator downstairs and the urgent murmur of voices. She remembered going very still under the comforter as she was suddenly convinced something was wrong. She hadn't been able to shake the odd prickle of dread as she'd forced herself out of bed, padding across the floor to creep along the dark landing. She'd peered out of the shadows, and she'd felt suddenly sick as she saw the heads downstairs, the strangers in uniform. There was red and blue siren reflected against the window outside. Except for the staff, she'd been alone in the penthouse because Carter was staying at a friend's and her parents had been out -

But it had been three o'clock in the morning and her parents were supposed to have been back hours ago.

The clock on her bedside table, now, was the same clock and it told her the same time. She was shaking as she dragged the comforter closer. The first few nights after that one, seven years ago, she hadn't been able to sleep because of the unease that overwhelmed her everytime the lights went out and she was lying in her bed again. Carter had ended up having to sleep in her room.

She'd thought that when she moved into the van der Woodsens the fear would stop. She'd told everyone it had. A different bed, a different room. But then the nightmares had started instead. Not the same nightmare every time, but the same feeling. And she'd never been able to shake that tightness in her throat, that discomfort every time it was her alone in the dark.

And now that she was back in her old room the nightmare felt ten times more suffocating.

She breathed out a few times, supressing the urge to get out of bed. The thought of moving onto the darkened landing filled her with dread anyway. The thought of her bare feet on the floor -

It was a moment before she even realised she was still holding her cell. Chuck's name still glowed dimly on the screen; just a few hours ago, when her only thoughts had been pleasure at the delight in his low murmur. And she was suddenly desperate to hear his voice in her ear again, to drive out everything else. She suddenly wished she'd told him to come over anyway. For one wild second she even considered calling him.

Then she froze as she realised just how pathetic she was being. Chuck couldn't see her like this. She wanted to be the Blair who'd whispered back to him without hesitation, teasing him and playing with him and driving him crazy. The girl he wanted enough to come over the phone. She needed it, she realised. She needed to be that person. With Chuck she got to be that person all the time - she got to be Blair Waldorf, and when she was with him being Blair Waldorf meant something. It meant what she wanted it to.

She couldn't bear the thought of that ever changing. She couldn't let it.

So she pushed the phone away and closed her eyes again, preparing herself for the long and agonising wait till morning light finally flooded the room again.

"The opera?"

Chuck heard Evelyn's derisive voice as he came out of the lift.

He found himself wishing he could go back down again. Or better yet, go back to Blair's warm body on top of his in his limo and her hot mouth pressed against his neck. He'd picked her up after her shopping trip with Serena, and had been quite delighted to discover how just much successful purchases got her blood going. He could still feel the imprint of her nails in his back. He definitely had to take her shopping himself.

His mother's cruel laugh sounded from across the room. "Why on earth would I want to go to the opera, Bartholomew?" The name was a malicious sneer, as ever.

"Jesse McKinley wants to do a piece for the Times." Bart sounded cold and quite flat. "And someone needs to sort out the mess you made."

"Oh yes," Evelyn drawled. "Jesse. He wrote that lovely interview about how close-knit the Basses were last year." She paused silkily. "I think he finished it in my bedroom."

Bart ignored her. "If I have to spend another penny covering up for you, Evelyn, then I'll cut you off."

Evelyn just laughed. "Except that I'm the one our accountant's sleeping with. Did you forget?" Then, as she noticed Chuck, "Darling." Her smile coiled. "Have you heard? Your father wants our happy family to go and see Carmen next week. Do you think he's trying to tell me something?" Her lazy glance at her husband oozed scorn. "I'd be scared, but I think murder requires some level of passion. Which we all know he doesn't have." Evelyn always made the biggest show of being all over her son - endearments and all - when Bart was around. Purely to get at him.

"I have plans," Chuck answered shortly. He was already moving past them; he just wanted to get to his room and shower before he met up with Nate and Serena at One Oak. Well. Nate, Serena, and a certain brunette. With any luck the blondes would eventually get too drunk and into making out to notice what was going on with their friends.

"I expect you to be there." Bart's tone was hard.

Chuck just gave him a cool look in return, and it was an exact mirror of his mother's.

"Sweetheart, be nice to your father," Evelyn cut in idly. "This can't be easy for him. He'll have to spend a night pretending he actually cares about you."

Chuck ignored her.

He ignored both of them as he walked away, engulfed in the same prickling nausea that came about whenever his parents were under the same roof.

"Blair!"

Blair went still as the blonde's voice floated over the counter of the cloakroom. The ruffled skirt of her floor-length coral dress was currently pushed up around her thighs, which Chuck still had his hands wrapped around as he leant between her legs on the sofa. Her fingers were still buried in his hair. She peered over his shoulder, straining to make out her best friend in the dim light.

Luckily, the sofa was tucked in to the side and Serena was looking the other way.

She shoved at Chuck's chest and managed to wriggle out of his hold, hissing, "Move it!" She yanked her dress down and slid off the sofa - Chuck, in comparison, was quite languid as he readjusted his bowtie. He was more intent on pulling her back down with him and finishing what they'd started.

But Blair shoved him again, this time towards the coat racks where he couldn't be seen. He was so infuriatingly, deliberately slow that she had to keep shoving him, small hands pressed sharp into his back. She was just about to turn once she decided he was well enough hidden - but he caught her suddenly, pulling her back for one last kiss. She groaned softly into his mouth as his tongue slipped into hers and his hands tightened on the small of her back.

"Chuck-"

"Blair? Are you there?"

Chuck growled in complaint as she broke the kiss, giving his chest another push. Then she'd slipped out of his grasp and was heading back to her best friend.

"What's wrong?"

Serena blinked as the brunette emerged. She could have sworn she wasn't there a second ago. "Where did you go? You've been getting your coat for the past half hour."

Blair rolled her eyes at the empty counter. "No one to serve. I had to look for it myself."

"I know," Serena frowned. "Because we checked our coats into the other cloak room, remember?" She held up the coat that was already slung over her arm.

Blair's smile widened. "Oh, right! That's why I couldn't find it." She took it from the blonde with another bright smile. "Thanks."

Serena's eyes narrowed in confusion. It wasn't like her best friend to forget something like that. But then, Blair had seemed distracted all through the opera. Serena wondered if she and Chuck had had another fight - the blonde had caught her glowering over at him in the interval, while he'd stood with Bart and Evelyn.

"Have you seen Chuck?" she asked now, watching the other girl's reaction. She could've sworn there was an odd look in Blair's eyes as she said the name.

But her friend just shrugged. "No. Why?"

"Bart was looking for him." Serena was still watching her with a slightly pursed brow. "Something about an interview..."

Blair pulled a face inwardly. She'd seen the Basses in their box and assumed their rare public appearance together was another of Bart's efforts at damage control - and she'd been able to see, from her own box, the toxic silence between the three of them. Bart on his blackberry, Evelyn not even pretending to look interested. And Chuck, slouched against the corner as far away from them as he could get. She'd also noticed the tightness of his jaw while they were posing for photographs in the interval. None of them had been smiling - Evelyn's expression was one of outright boredom.

She didn't envy Chuck having to go back to that now. If only Serena hadn't come looking for her, then they could've stayed in the cloakroom a little longer...

"B." Serena gave her an impatient nudge. "Can we get out of here now? Remember," she enthused, "Columbia wardrobes to discuss?" It was their orienatation day tomorrow.

Blair smiled back a little. "Let's go." She let Serena lead the way - and then she glanced back, briefly, to where Chuck was standing. She flashed him a smirk over her bare shoulder and was rewarded with the gleam of a faint grin back.

"Ugh." Carter grimaced as he read the mail he'd just opened. "We've been invited to the Bass' anniversary party. You'd think they'd just do Chuck the favour of killing each other..."

Blair gave him a little look; his mouth twisted.

She picked a strawberry out of her fat-free yoghurt. "Does this mean Bart's actually letting people into their home?" She knew that the man was notoriously private - the only parties at that penthouse, from what she'd heard, were the all-nighters that Evelyn threw when her husband wasn't around.

"Must be in trouble," Carter reflected.

He remembered the last forced affair between Harold and Eleanor after a male model had threatened to take his story to the press. Eleanor had been furious. He didn't say that to his sister now, though. She'd never known about that aspect of their marriage and he didn't want her to. She needed to have something good to cling to, for God's sake.

Carter hadn't been all that surprised when he'd found out. He'd always been closer to Eleanor than to his dad anyway - he and Harold joked around, but he'd never had that same level of idolation that Blair had reserved for the man. And it was clear Harold had found his adoring little girl much easier to be a father to. His parenting methods with Carter had tended to involve turning a blind eye to his various misdeeds or turning them into a joke. Eleanor had always been the only figure Carter had any respect for.

He could see why Blair had been closer to Harold, though, since Eleanor had always reserved a special amount of harshness for her daughter. Carter had never received that constant criticism over his clothes or what he ate. And unlike Blair, whenever he thought his mother was being ridiculous he'd tell her so. Blair just used to go stiff and swallow the criticism even as she pretended she hadn't. And some of the comments Eleanor aimed at her daughter really had been ridiculous. He'd seen his sister change outfits that looked perfectly fine because of one pointed comment; her problem was that she'd always taken it too personally.

Carter and Eleanor had argued, but they'd understood each other. The truth was that for all her furious snapping and that iron will, Eleanor had needed to be challenged. Stood up to. Carter couldn't help but think that if their parents hadn't died when they did, Blair might have figured that out. She was good enough at arguing with anyone else.

He glanced at her, now, as she got to her feet and dropped her napkin over her plate. "Thanks for the breakfast." She tossed him a quick smile, already reaching for her phone.

"I thought orientation didn't start for another hour?" He asked idly as she swung her bag onto her shoulder.

"I said I'd meet Serena before." (She'd said no such thing. Chuck was giving her a ride).

"Well, try not to crush too many freshmen. You should probably pace yourself."

She considered this for a beat. "I'll think about it."

Carter smirked.

"I need to go," Blair mumbled into the skin of Chuck's neck.

It wasn't all that convincing with his hands gripping her bare waist under her yellow ruffle top and her little body still pressed against his. Her fingers crept to his nape as she kissed the hollow of his throat, mouth sliding under the undone top buttons of his shirt to kiss his collar bone too. Chuck pulled her closer against the leather seats.

"Who'd have thought," she murmured between kisses, hand curling in his hair, "That your limo would be so useful?"

The thin material of her citrus fruit pencil skirt was tight against her thighs as she shifted in his lap and his hands crept up the warm skin of her spine.

"My limo," he reflected, closing his eyes at the sweet heat of her mouth, her lips against his skin making him grip her tighter, "The elevator, that vestibule, the changing rooms at Bergdorfs-"

"And Saks." She breathed it against his skin, soft, as she nipped his neck.

His fingers dug into her back. "And Bendels."

He felt her sigh in contentment. Her kisses had moved to his jaw now; he lowered his head and captured her lips in his, arms trapping her in place. Her breathing hitched as he deepened the kiss.

When they finally broke for air, she gazed down at him with a faint smile and her fingers ran over his cheek. His eyes were golden as he gazed back up at her - and she felt something catch in her throat, suddenly.

She withdrew her hand from his face.

"I really do need to go."

He caught the hand in his and kissed her again. "You'll be amazing, Waldorf," he muttered against her lips. She smiled again, back against his.

"Well. Obviously."

Her hand slid for the door handle, and she managed to disentangle herself from him. "See you tonight?"

Serena was dragging them all out to celebrate their first day of college. Chuck was going to point her in the direction of the clubs with the best back rooms. Or hidden corners.

"Can't wait," he mumred as he watched her climb out of the car. And his eyes stayed on that tight little figure as she disappeared down the street, his neck still tingling from her kisses and that odd hungry feeling burning inside him.