Disclaimer:I don't own gossip girl, just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into

A/N: Omygosh! Thanks for such a great response I'm glad you guys are reading this and liking it. A million thanks to everyone who subscribed and reviewed ;D MAJOR props to my wonderful beta kate2008. Happy reading!

And I know I've said all this so that you've heard it all before
the trick is getting you to think that all this is your idea.
-- Paramore

Chapter Two:

Blair fixed her eyes on the rise and fall of Mark's chest, his breathing was low and in perfect rhythm with her own. With a glance at the clock she stretched and sat up, the cool night air whirling around the room as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. She was always filled with decisions and lists, plans and places to be that she tilted her head to the side, wishing only to empty it a little.

Squares of light crawled across the hardwood as cars passed on the street below. The occasional conversation floated through the open window – the familiar soundtrack of her beloved New York.

She scanned the room, her eyes adjusting to the shadows as she stood up and started down the hallway. The floorboards creaked with the weight of her feet as she treaded down the hallway as quietly as possible.

The movements she made were simple and skirted on second-nature as she reached for the kettle, filling it with water and placing it on the stove. A worrisome sigh elicited from her lips as she leaned against the counter, staring into the distance.

When her stomach had been heavy with Tula and Henry, her feet swollen and sore, her nights had been spent sitting in the same kitchen, in the same house on the same street. More often then not she sipped green tea on those nights and marvelled at the feeling of her children's feet kicking her from the inside.

Mark had stayed up with her then, cradling her tired body in his arms as he kissed her matted hair in reverence. They would talk through the hours she couldn't sleep – of the future and their children. Sometimes it took forever but eventually she would relax and fall asleep, leaning into his shoulder and drooling on his pyjamas. He would curl her up then and carry her up the stairs and into bed.

Whenever Blair found herself bogged down with responsibility and weighed with thoughts, she would make her way down to the kitchen – upholding the same actions that soon became tradition. A cup of tea to be prepared as she thought over invitations and recitals, classes and finances until the anxiety drained from her schedule and calm beckoned her back to sleep.

It had become a valued ritual as change began to occur so often that it appeared to be the only constant. Her days were spent under the pressure of being Blair Hutlen. The blithe of one's college years faded with an adoration for her babies as she watched them grow.

All she could think of was the hatred that Mark would surely feel if he knew. He would despise her to the core, her best friend, her lover and he would diffuse the life they had built together. Everything they had created would be broken down to the lie it had been formed on, ever memory burnt with a rueful stare. She couldn't even bare to think it.

The secrets she kept were better hidden than exposed - she knew this, and there was nothing worth jeopardizing the life she had now. She tried not to think of the past – thankfully there was almost always something better to do than remember an old lover.

Steam poured out of the spout as the kettle whistled and she swiftly cut the distance in a matter of seconds. The kettle was placed on a cold element and Blair, ever thankful for the distraction, went about preparing her tea.

She raised her hand to the light, watching the diamonds on her wedding band glitter in the light. No, she was not a Waldorf anymore, nor was she a teenager. With this affirmation Chuck's face appeared, Tula's smirk was in the curve of his lips, the sparkle of Henry's eyes in his. She found that his image was the same it had been the night of the charity ball.

The eyes of Henry's father pleaded with her, appealing to the weak spot in her reserve. Chuck asked for her to unlock the memories, to allow them to fall on top of her with the increased weight of forgotten time.

And so, as she did once a year, Blair leaned against the counter waiting for burning emptiness to fill her to the brim.

October. 4th, 2011:

"Anyway Malcolm," distaste evident as his name rolled off her tongue "What's your major?"

Blair's eyes narrowed as Serena opened her mouth, prepared to say something if he came up short. She watched as he shifted uncomfortably, picking at the salad in front of him for a moment too long. Serena frowned, upset at the contempt in Blair's tone and her best friend's obvious neglect for kindness.

She rolled her eyes. Forgive me, she mouthed silently above his gaze, it's not my fault you have zero taste in men.

Malcolm was nothing more than the cookie-cutter definition of a "struggling artist." His skinny body was covered in flannel and skinny jeans, an activist of some sort. So far he had spent the better part of lunch preaching about insouciant topics that barely managed to reach Blair's ears.

She had only agreed to meet Serena's "Providence boyfriend" under the argument that things were turning serious between the two of them. And it was particularly understood during recent conversations that the torment of a "meet-and-greet" was eminent at the pace in which Serena swore the relationship was progressing.

Whatever, better earlier than latter she had mused, showing up only to find them huddled together on the patio. The smacking of their lips as they kissed was so loud that she wondered if they were trying to devour each other's faces – rather than trying to kiss.

It was disgusting and entirely inappropriate and as dreaded as the meal had been in theory, it was even more unbearable in practice.

"Art history." She blinked, was he for real?

"What do you plan to do you really plan to do with that?"

"Actually," he scanned the other tables with his green eyes, careful not to rest his attention on Blair for too long, "I'm really not sure yet."

Serena swatted his arm with a grin, "Don't be silly! He wants to be a teacher B."

"Oh?" She feigned interest, her eyes glued to his movements as he squirmed under the intensity of her gaze.

Malcolm turned, breathing into Serena's cheek for a moment before answering, "I'm thinking about it but nothing's definite right now."

Blair narrowed her eyes and raised her hands, gesturing in circles and lines. "Your glasses are so … so … circa 1976."

"Blair –"It was uttered as a warning, a stop sign, a breath of cautious anticipation.

The warning went un-noticed; Blair licked her lips and opened her mouth, "do you have any idea what those glasses say about you?"

"N-no?"

"Well," she drew the word out, turning her head towards the grey clouds, "they say that you're from Providence, that you wear Birkenstocks in your spare time and that you're utterly hopeless."

The moment was then interrupted by the discordant ring of Blair's cell phone.

It was plucked from the table without so much as a secondary glance before being thrown into her purse with exaggerated force.

Serena leaned forward with curiosity, "Who was it B?"

"No one" Blair retorted, lifting a glass of red wine to her lips.

Serena mouthed something into Malcolm's ear quickly, brushing a gentle kiss to his cheek. He smiled meekly at Blair, stood up and scurried into the street, grateful for the meals abrupt ending.

Blair removed the wine glass slowly from her lips, gratitude in the apples of her cheeks as she set the glass on the tablecloth. For the torturous hour of introduction had been cut short by none other than its orchestrator.

"Why is he leaving?"

"I sent him to Lily's."

"Why is he leaving" She repeated with irritation. It was only seconds after that Malcolm's departure that she had come to remember what being alone without distraction in front of her best friend was - a formula for direct and unguarded conversation.

Serena folded her hands in her lap, "You are obviously angry and taking it out on the innocent B, you were just tearing him to pieces!"

"I did no such thing," Blair turned her nose up as if she were dismissing the idea wholly. "Besides, I was simply doing him a favour. I can hardly understand what it is that you see in him anyway."

"That's funny - because I could say the exact same thing about Chuck."

"The Basshole is an entirely different category. But it's like you've got Humphrey 2.0 in your bed!"

Serena's eyes widened, her hair dangerously close to falling in a bowl of tomato soup." Whatever, I didn't even ask for your opinion but Malcolm is so far from Dan that it's ridiculous."

The conversation had ended, there was no room to condense debate or argument, the air thick with disagreement.

"Then why pray tell, did you insist on bringing me to this hovel in the middle of Soho to meet him?" Blair was trying feebly to resist the rage that bit at her skin as she swallowed the rest of her wine.

Serena turned away, "Give it up Blair, you're supposed to be my best friend."

Blair suddenly felt silly, her fury dissolving with these words as her bitterness was carried away by the breeze.

"Ugh, I'm not being a good friend am I?" It was mostly rhetorical, "I'm sorry S, I really do apologize. I was doing my best to be civil but when he started talking about picket lines …"She swallowed a scoff and pulled a strand of hair behind her ear.

Serena started to shake with the rhythm of silent laughter, her necklace thumping against her collarbone. Chagrin creased Blair's forehead as she looked up, her lips falling into a straight line.

"Picket -"Serena managed between breaths, raising her face to the sun … "what have I done!?"

Blair grinned," My thoughts exactly." She threw a hand over her lips and laughed with Serena at the situation, their hair tangling about them in the brisk October air, reaching for the sky.

Chuck walked past the front desk, offering a minor smile to the woman who handed him his coffee," Good morning Mr. Bass."

In the middle of the hallway he stopped, tapping his foot against the ground. Erin ran towards him in long strides, several files that threatened to fall apart, in the crook of his arm.

"I got on the wrong-" Erin huffed as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his hands on his knees almost kneeling over, "subway."

Chuck glanced down with one elongated sip of his coffee,"Mmm I see."

"I texted that I was goin-g to be late this morning"

"Do I look like someone who cares?" Chuck gestured to the space between his assistant and him, mere feet apart.

Erin shook his head and Chuck snarled as he followed on his bosses heels, both men making their way to the back of the building with quick steps.

"All that I ask ..." he talked behind his shoulder, "is that you show up and do your job, otherwise you will be replaced and blacklisted."

"It won't happen again s-sir" Erin stuttered.

"Files" Chuck flattened his palm to receive the heave of papers as he unlocked his office door with the other hand.

Everything about the boy irritated him beyond belief. The bundle of red hair atop his head and the freckle spotted face always full of naivety, no matter how many days he spent being someone's lap dog he always remained grateful and enthusiastic. This attitude was one that Chuck had grown to value in his employees with no room for personal vendettas within his company.

"What are you waiting for? Go find me some breakfast Erin." There was a pause in thought as he fought silently with his impulses, "and connect me to Mark Hutlen." He raised a dismissive hand, "Tell him it's regarding his foundation."

"Yes sir."

With that the assistant disappeared and he retreated into his darkened office. The sun was beginning to rise from behind the buildings as he took a seat at his desk, neon rainbows of colour being cast on adjacent buildings.

"Mummy!" Henry capitulated himself into Blair's arms as she sat at the dinning room table. She waited patiently as he shifted into her lap, eyes glued to the newspaper.

"Munchkin!" His hair smelt of strawberries and vanilla, "How did you sleep?"

"Good."

She wrapped her arms tightly around him, looking into his eyes as she brushed strands of hair away from his forehead. He snuggled into the crook of her neck, a yawn escaping his lips.

Placing her glasses on the table she peppered her son's cheeks with benign kisses. It was in these instances that she felt the selfish tugs at her heart. Every day could be spent perfectly content as long as the pitter-patter of her children's feet could be heard, their eyes bright with enthusiasm for another day. She knew that sooner or later she would have to let them grow up, watch them leave for university, but she was always thankful that these things seemed to be within the subject of later rather than sooner.

"Go find Dorota and get dressed alright?" she whispered into his ear as she hoisted him off her lap and onto the ground. "Go find your sister darling and eat this," she handed him the muffin that had sat untouched for the last ten minutes and watched as he ran down the hall with it.

Mark emerged from the opposite end of the kitchen in his best suit, the normal shirt and cotton pyjama's folded away for another day. He walked up to her and draped his arms around her neck from behind, his eyes skimming the article that Blair had been chipping away at all morning. "Hi," he mumbled into her shoulder, lips warm against the silk of her dress. "Guess what, I have a meeting!"

Blair spun around, an uncertain smile on her face. "With?" she couldn't keep the anxiety out of her tone.

He lifted her from the chair, spinning her around in circles, "Chuck – freaking – Bass!" She closed her eyes, feeling bile rise to her throat.

Every thought that came to mind unhinged, rotating on an unbalanced axis and running wildly away from her.

"What about," She cleared her throat, "is something wrong?"

"No no," Mark shook his head, "it's crazy He just called me up a few minutes ago. Something about how he likes to remain active in the foundations he supports. I'm supposed to be on the Upper East Side in twenty-five minutes."

He ran a hand through his hair excitedly, eyes trained on Blair – anticipating her reaction to this happy news.

There were so many emotions, she just needed to think, to be able to catch one, any which one.

He was filled with so much bliss that she imagined it overflowing, pouring generously out of his lips and onto the floor between them.

Of course it was everything that he wanted, everything he really needed to establish himself among those who could financially support his cause; everything needed to keep his dream alive.

And there she was, shell shocked and speechless, tongue tied and unable to configure a reasonable answer. It was ridiculous, tedious and very unlike her.

"Oh," She took a seat on the chair, picking at the diamond broach pinned to her dress, "Mark I'm so happy! Wow, it's just fantastic isn't it?"

He grabbed a hold of her hand and bent on his knee reaching to place her palm on his chest right above his heart. He was clearly unable to detect the slight tremor of her voice as she spoke, or otherwise he was mistaking it for what he wanted it to be. Optimism.

"I love you Blair, you know that right?"

She nodded, her gaze falling on Tula and Henry as they raced back each other to the kitchen, backpacks in tow. Mark pressed his lips to hers with brief force before he jumped up to gather the twins in his arms.

"Superman, I love you" he cooed, dropping a kiss on Henry's forehead, "And you too, my little dancing queen." The children beamed happily as their father squished them together.

"Alright," Mark announced, "Have an awesome day at school and I'll see everyone at the recital. Good luck sweet heart!"

"Bye daddy" Tula said, picking up her backpack and skipping over to her mother. The trademark Waldorf headband atop her hair that Dorota had pulled into a neat ponytail.

"Bye daddy" Henry parroted, turning to watch him grab the keys to the range rover, waving as he closed the front door behind him.

"Morning momma," Blair licked her thumb, smudging traces of pancake off Tula's cheek, cupping her daughters chin in her hands, "Good morning, tiny dancer."

Chuck wasn't playing by the rules and he knew it and he really had no idea what he was doing, or why.

He could still smell her perfume if he concentrated long enough, feel her hand in his . . . and it brought forth an ardor so overpowering that it was causing him to act irrationally. That was the only reasoning he could feign behind his action.

After all, she wouldn't have taken up his lunch offer, she would run from him as far away as fast as possible as she had always done. And maybe he was worn of game, of the exuberant ignorance she placed on anything having to do with him.

Or maybe he just wanted to prove that he was a man, a changed man, who made mistakes but had thought about her every second of every hour of every day for the past eight years.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

A/N: Gasp! Thanks for the read. Review if you have some time, I love love feedback ;D