A/N: WOW GUYS, 10 chapters and over 100 reviews! Whoooot (so exciting ;D) Anyway, I still don't own Gossip Girl and all that mumbo jumbo. I'm not going to babble on ... except that you are absolutely fantasticly fantastic and so is my wonderful beta kate2008. Reviews as always are much, much loved and very, very appreciated. HAPPY READING!

Cause all we know is falling, it falls.
Remember, because I know that we won't forget at all
-- Paramore

Chapter Ten:

For seven days, nothing existed but the photographs littering Chuck's desk, spilling as they did over the mahogany table and onto the floor. The indecipherable moments and grainy blurs that remained silent, holding little.

It was on the eighth day of this conquest that Chuck came to his senses. Nothing had been captured on film that couldn't be seen in a better quality with his own two eyes. With this fresh in his mind, he lit another cigarette and called for the limo.

The method of action had been tedious so far, searching as much with his hands as his eyes for the rifts. Places where light penetrated the darkness and gave-way to banks of new knowledge. There had to be gaps, areas where the light filtered clear onto the brilliance of illusion. Blair Hutlen could pretend she was happy all she wanted, but Chuck Bass knew better.

He leaned back, taking a long thoughtful drag of his cigarette. Abigail had been out for hours, maxing her credit cards at Holt Renfrew most likely. Lately, she was left angry and resounding in shame since no amount (or rather lack thereof) lingerie and sickly perfume could draw her husband between the sheets.

This absence of affection was fine with him. After all, he slept better when not inclined to rise at ungodly hours of the day just to slip a birth control pill into one of her morning smoothies.

Plumes of grey smoke danced about the room, settling into the grooves of misjudgement and preposterous action that Chuck had come to define himself with. Desperation having fuelled the marriage to Abby, a ridiculous idea on its own. As if the plains of her ordinary face and square jaw could even hold false compare to the woman that stirred in him an undying fire.

All these years he had avoided laying the blame. Instead, it had been much easier to bury the past beneath thick barriers of memory. But, with the passing of time, Chuck had come to wonder … what reason had there really been?

He tormented himself, believing that he was the one who had walked away; on account of his insecurities and his obvious difficulties with commitment. But in retrospect, it seemed as though Blair might have done all the walking.

Maybe they had abandoned each other, one simply allowing the other to continue falling in another direction; partly out of fear that one day their love would break into pieces – and partly because they had been young and stupid.

One thing was for certain, the once greatly respected couple had learned how best to do one thing in the absence of each other.

Run.

The hour after all ties in their great romance had been severed; Chuck had sat in the very same office. He had mulled the day over with a fresh glass of scotch, vowing in the dark of the night that if he could not have Waldorf that he would at least do all that he could to prime Bass Industries into the jewel it had been.

His promise had been kept and the family business thrived under his rule, brandishing the Bass name with pride. One of the largest most revered companies in the world and it was all his own.

While he had slaved away, merely hoping to get through half the papers that regularly lined his briefcase, Blair had been busy with marriage and children, the little things that kept her walking away from him. They really had skirted off in different directions. The details of their affair fading and distorted during those years, like water passing though his hands.

She had always been there though – in the back of his mind – subject only to the murky changing of details. And, after some time, the last remaining pockets of their discarded love were all that was left behind.

In a compilation of the scattered pieces, Blair had built a sandcastle, constructing new parts where they were needed. The structure held up with the mere determination to forge something new out of their wreckage.

Chuck had envisioned this labour. He saw her elegant world in blocks of sand constructed too close to the ebbing tide. Soon, she would realize that there were cracks in the foundation, tiny but significant enough for the water to rush in and wash away all she had worked in making.

Blair kept her eyes peeled on Henry's reflection in the oval-shaped vanity mirror, counting out brush-strokes and starting to pin her hair into a bun.

He sat cross legged, his notebooks splayed in front of him, chewing on the end of a pencil. So far, he had been diligent in getting an extremely early start on his homework but she knew that soon, boredom would fill him and he'd grow frustrated.

As if on cue, her son let out a dramatic sigh, dropping his pencil onto the floor and padding over to the window seat in his socks. He hoped onto the cushions and pressed his cheek to the cool glass, eyes trained on the streets below.

For the past four days New York City had been under an almost constant downpour. The grey clouds overhead, thick and heavy with precipitation, traveled sluggishly across the gleaming skyline, showing no signs of dissipating.

The early morning class that Henry took every Saturday had been cancelled. Supposedly, as he later admonished, because of a fight that occurred between two intermediate students. It had resulted, as these things often did, in a broken nose and many tears.

Hours of quality time stretched in front of Blair and her son, empty and waiting to be built upon, eagerly thrumming with possibility. Nimbly, she finished putting her hair up and walked towards him, pressing the palm of her hand to his brown curls.

"Can we go outside?" He asked - the corners of his mouth down-turned commas. Images of Chuck danced across Blair's eyelids. It was the same expression he had used whenever he asked something of her and hadn't known the answer.

She shook her head, emptying his face from her thoughts.

Blair brushed her thumb gently across Henry's forehead, and with the grace of a gentleman, he sat perfectly still. She quirked an eyebrow, thinking over his request. Even though there was energy in him, just lying in wait to be burned, she wasn't particularly fond of letting him jump in dirty sidewalk puddles until dinnertime.

Henry leaned into her side, "We could always go to Central Park," he suggested. "We haven't gone there in days, mommy." He kicked his heels together, trying in vain to hide his excitement.

Blair chuckled, "Darling – do you really want to go in the rain?" She knew full well that boys loved any opportunity to get muddy and cold but asked none the less.

"We could feed the ducks," he said, as though he hadn't heard her. "Dorota said just the other day that there's an almost stale loaf of bread in the pantry."

"Oh she did, did she?" How convenient, Blair suspected his deviance, flashing a smile.

Henry batted his lashes and lowered his eyes to the floor, "Yes, yesterday mom!"

She tilted her head, pretending to think it over as he looked eagerly up at her. Slowly, Blair nodded in approval before visions of mud-soaked sweaters and knotty hair could flash through her thoughts.

He lit up, that smile that she loved so much; jumping from the window-seat and running off into the hall before she could even blink, mumbling something, the product of over-excitement, akin to thank-you.

Blair walked briskly to the staircase, her heels clicking against the hardwood loudly. Henry had already begun his decent of the stairs, "Slowly," She called, "and put the blue jacket on. Not the one with dirt all over it."

Chuck Bass fancied himself a man of many talents, though he remained rather understating of them (in his head at least … sometimes.) However, when it came to strategy, the game of chess, the ever desirable need for trickery - it was second nature. The un-nerving perfectionisms of his deception ran though his blood, the ancestral passing's-down of men who had been equally as powerful and influential as he.

Finally he had stopped stewing about, mulling over what could have been vs. what was, the game of 'what if' turning into a boring comparison. So, instead of lounging about like a useless git, he had sprung into action. No longer was there time to lie in wait, there existed only action and answers to the questions that peppered his thoughts.

The limo glided into park not seconds before a town car pulled away from the curb outside of a certain Brooklyn residence. Chuck swirled the liquid around in his glass, gulping the scotch down in one sip, coughing as it burned a trail down his throat. He motioned for the driver to follow said car and delved back into his own world as they swerved through traffic, retracing the familiar route to Manhattan.

Chuck rested against the backseat, the concrete jungle blurring past his window.

What was it that had ignited this fire in him, the sense that something was off-balance? Truly if he were any kind of reasonable man would he not let the whole ordeal drop from his coat and fizzle into dust? Perhaps, he was less of a reasonable man when it came to Blair.

He wondered what it was that he hoped to find. A marriage in shambles? A petite brunette who still longed for his touch? It had occurred to him once or twice that he could be searching for closure. A simple way to connect the past to the present but he doubted it. At no point did he think of just going home or even to the office to catch up on some backlogged paperwork. To him, this commitment to an unknown presence of secrecy was answer enough to his question.

The limo jerked to a stop and he cast a glance outside, they were in front of the southeast entrance to Central Park.

From where he sat, obscured by several legions of traffic, he could see the back door of the town-car opening. Blair stepped out, her hair tied in a tousled bun at the nape of her neck, clad in a pair of skinny jeans and a peach cardigan, this sight alone caused Chuck's heart to skip a beat or two.

For a minute she did nothing, simply standing there as the rain fell about her in a light mist. And then it was as though she had snapped back into reality, her brown eyes scanning the street. She pulled out an umbrella, shaking it open. He noticed off-hand that the door had not been shut and she had yet to make such a move towards it.

Chuck narrowed his eyes. If Mark emerged, then he already knew that he would berate the nearest available person into tears, and this whole excursion would prove pointless. If there was one thing he definitely did not want to witness, it was Mr and Mrs. Hutlen's lovey-dovey walk through the park in the rain. Barf.

Blair bent down, the umbrella dropping to the crook of her neck and for a matter of minutes Chuck's view was blocked by its fluorescent red material. By the time she had a firm grip on the handle, she wasn't the only one under protection from the damp weather.

A child stood beside her, and in the second it took for him to spot something off in the distance, he started to pull Blair along. She threw her head back in laughter, pressing her lips to his curls.

Chuck's heart beat rang through his ears, his mouth agape. Those almond shaped eyes, the starched shirt and green-striped sweater, the way the boy moved … he held in a breath, memories flooding back, open and vulnerable and holding truth with no explanation.

This child that was clearly his.

As though he had known it all along everything fell into place, colliding in his perspectives, tearing open fresh definitions of everything.

"Timothy," Chuck drawled his voice low and hoarse. "Drive around the block until I get back."

Not another word was spoken, he climbed out of the limo and slammed the door shut. As Timothy pulled away from the curb Chuck made no sign of moving towards the sidewalk. He stood, still as a statue, a million emotions pulling him apart.

The smirk, the way it had flashed across the little boys pale complexion with such a handsome nonchalance ... his heart swelled with a truth, seemingly an honesty almost too big to absorb.

They say pictures speak a thousand words ... but what about a Bass man's smile?

"Twins, they're eight..."

A thousand meanings and it had boiled down to two very purposefully hidden secrets. Suddenly, his past with Blair took on a whole new meaning as did her marriage. But right now, all he could think of was his son, the little silhouette that was fading in the distance, getting further and further away from him after years of being apart.

Blair shifted her weight, trying in vain to keep her Manolos from sinking into the damp grass. The sun flitted about the edges of the rain clouds, murky light pooling together in small patches.

Henry had been throwing bits of loaf into the pond, curious ducks swimming close and snatching pieces.

After some time, a tiny white duckling emerged and waddled towards them, interested in the scented air. "Henry," Blair encouraged, "Open your hand – let him take it from you."

He looked towards her and back at the duck and bent down with an outstretched palm. The duckling plocked twice and gently grabbed the bread. Henry laughed and grinned wildly, "Did you see, did you see mom?!"

She grinned in response, "Yes baby." They were interrupted by the dramatic ring of her cell phone which she dug out of her purse with abandon.

A cold front swept through, chilly and forcible, as though it was in Blair's bones rather than the atmosphere. She held her breath, heart hammering as she turned, lips pressed into a thin hard line.

And then she completely forgot how to breathe.

Chuck was leaning against a tree. His posture poised and yet indifferent. She met his eyes – the jagged steel of truth and her heart pounded harder against her ribcage. He knew.

The cell phone slid from her sweaty palms and she made no move to pick it up, to do anything. In the back of her mind she sensed danger, but couldn't register what was happening. There was so much to pick up, to fill in, and to hide at such a staggering pace that it left her speechless.

Blair snapped back into reality at the sound of Henry's voice, like a rubber band stretched and catapulted into the air. She rushed towards him, covering his frame with her body, attempting to hide in a group of tourists that were lazily circling the park, snapping pictures.

In one quick movement she scooped him into her arms. "Ry," she whispered in his ear, "We have to go pick up your sister now. We've got to hurry okay? I wasn't paying attention to the time." Her words were fragmented, rushed and worried all at once.

Henry said nothing; he simply clung to her like a monkey, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in complete trust. She strode onto the pathway, the road of cement that would guide them to the street.

Chuck's eyes were there, following her every move. Blair didn't have to look back to know it, to feel it on her flesh.

Her mind raced, thinking of solutions. She could withdraw the twins from school and move to Washington or California – somewhere far away. Safety tucked into a life far from New York, from Chuck, and the honesty that threatened to divulge her secrets and destroy her marriage.

The piece of herself that belonged to him had been disconnected for so long. Even when she was forced to sit with him, to dine as though she hardly knew him, it sparked but hadn't flared. Now, it spoke loud and clear. The way she walked, desperately...

"Blair -" She froze, her hand covering Henry's cheek. His voice was quiet but firm, torn from the depths of her most intimate moments. Slowly she turned, unwilling to meet the gaze of a man who asked so much of her with his presence.

Was this the moment, the very second that it would all fall apart? She thought she might vomit. For the past eight years this was the last thing she wanted. Sure, it had been thought about it once or twice, but never really considered. The thought was always so distant, so far from who she was, it was never enough to make her want it.

Henry and Tula were hers, and everything had been done to ensure Chuck Bass never knew. Until now.

"Charles," She made no attempt at feigning surprise. "How nice to see you. Here - in Central Park - where you always are." Blair narrowed her eyes.

Henry jumped from her arms, leaving her empty and powerless towards the pressing exchange of words. Her brows furrowed momentarily and she dropped her hands onto his blue jacket. He was curious of Chuck but waited to be introduced. Henry's mouth quirked up in a half-grin as the wind blew past them, rustling the trees.

She wanted to rewind this moment, retrace her steps, to be anywhere with Henry but right here and right now in front of the solid wall of her past.

"Henry" She smiled, if only for his benefit, tendrils of her hair dipping past her collarbone. "This is … Chuck Bass." His name fell off her lips in two pieces, broken and sharp.

"Hello," Chuck offered his hand and she stifled a wince when Henry took it. Could her son see that he shared the same deep-set eyes as this man? The identical lips curved into a grin? The high cheek bones and deep brown hair...

"Hi," Henry addressed. "It's very nice to meet you."

Blair had trained the children at an early age to be polite but now it just seemed the barrier. The hurdle between the past and the present keeping her from escaping the conversation with a son any less than oblivious to the hidden meaning behind each word.

The stars in her universe were already dropping one by one, crashing into the pavement with little thuds.

"I must say," Chuck drawled. "It's a bit of an odd day for a walk in the park."

Henry opened his mouth but Blair interjected hastily. "We were just going actually, weren't we darling?" She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

He nodded, "Yeah kind of."

Henry was teetering on the edges of confusion. Wondering why his mother was so tense and eager to get away. She prodded him in the back, guiding him away from Chuck, who looked at the two of them yet remained completely still.

"Bye Mr. Bass" Henry called over his shoulder. Blair held her chin up, if only to keep the facade glued together she said," Yes Charles. It was nice seeing you."

The air around them was heavy and she avoided his eyes. The Bass she knew had never been one to miss a beat and he didn't. With the smooth confidence only a man of his calibre could possess, Chuck stepped forward. "Nonsense. I should be so privileged as to escort you to your car."

By the time the three of them made it to the passengers side, Blair's head was spinning and she felt sick, disgusted with the confrontation that was to come. She shivered at the thought.

Blair rounded the car and waited as Henry climbed into the backseat. "Ry, I just have to talk to Mr. Bass for a moment." He nodded and turned on his PSP, completely absorbed by the screen.

With that she sighed and moved towards the sidewalk. Chuck grabbed her arm and all but dragged her off to the nearest bench.

"Let me go," She growled. Her skin burnt at his touch, "You're hurting me."

He looked over her once, his lip curled. He dropped his grasp and sat down motioning for her to follow. Did she have any choice in the matter? Blair edged as far away from him as she could get, still close enough to taste his cologne on her tongue.

It was the scent of history and stale emotion, too familiar.

"They're my kids ..." He said, it was so soft and pliable. "Blair?" He turned to look at her but he couldn't keep his eyes on her face. Suddenly she felt ashamed.

"Chuck - you're delusional." She wasn't going to forfeit years of work for a few moments of truth, no matter. There was too much at stake.

He snarled, "Don't play innocent, don't even fucking bother." His tone rose and he looked away, she could see the vapour rolling off his lips. She propped her jacket lapels up around her bare neck.

Long ago she had accepted that she would always love him but it was all too real to think of, to even wrap her head around. Two people that had once laughed and smiled, it only seemed natural that out of their mess would come two of the most beautiful babies that Blair couldn't live without.

She couldn't hate him, even if she wanted to, even if their conversation held so many disasters waiting to break loose.

It was the trade off for years of his uncertainty, a love that was present but somehow lost all at once. In Henry and Tula she saw nothing but the best parts of Chuck and Blair, it was enough for her.

"You lied to me." A red tinge appeared on his cheeks, the way his forehead creased. He wouldn't understand.

Her sympathy blew away, carried elsewhere on the April winds.

"As I recall, YOU were the one who left, not me."

"Debatable," He bit out, his movements forced.

Blair opened her mouth but nothing came out, what was there to say? She struggled to keep calm, to deconstruct the anger in Chuck's voice and keep her words civil. Something she could see he was having difficulty doing.

"You can't deny me this Blair and you won't." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

His leather glove trailed the corner of her chin, "Little Waldorf - always such a great liar. It's really unfortunate on your part that I'm not a simpleton."

She squirmed and brushed his hand away. "Shut up, you don't even know what you're saying."

Chuck leaned in, his breath hot on the shell of her ear. "Go ahead and run but I will find you and then we'll be settling this in court."

And then he was up and walking off, his black trench coat drab against the crowd. Blair released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. "Choose wisely," he called.

Blair watched him walk away until he was just a speck in the distance. She stood up, grabbing at composure as tears fell down her cheeks. New York was the kind of city where she would need to chip them off. As quickly as she had let herself feel angry and upset she brushed the salt water away and pulled a smile across her lips.

They had changed into different people, the battle grounds shifting and transformed but underneath it all she was still Blair Waldorf and he - Chuck Bass. It happened, of course, that time diluted and bulked up those once near-hollow names into something more. But in place of it all they were united now to fight for the same thing.

Their children.