A/N: You reviewers are fantastic, like seriously amazing! Thank you so much for your thoughts on this story as it progresses. I really love knowing that people are interested in this. It keeps me writing it after all. Big thanks to Kate2008 for being my cool bean beta and everyone who sticks with this story! So I know I've been pretty cryptic and everything, but take what you can from this chapter and leave me some feedback if you have some time (: PS. Can't wait for the next episode (specifically the bridge/red dress scene!)

Chapter Twenty:

"I came here because I don't want you to hate me." She sat down, the edge of the sofa cushions, the corners of her mouth.

"Oh?" He clutched his drink, his thoughts swirling like melted ice, drifting onto themselves.

She looked down, at her feet, away from him.

"What are you really doing here?" He shifted, pulled a hand through his hair.

She shook her head, looked up, back down again.

"I ... I don't know."

She stopped, took a breath, reached his eyes and added, "I want you to tell me that you don't loathe me but I'm not a child, I know I can't have that luxury."

He hated to sound menial and petty, but there was only one thing to say.

"And?"

"I told him," She turned her chin up; the dim light hit it carefully. "I told him." As if she were trying to reaffirm herself.

"What do you want from me?" Honestly. He couldn't sit there, listen to this.

"What do I want?" She turned the words around in her mouth, played with them. "You know," She said, "I don't know how I got to be so selfish. I'm a selfish bitch and I'm sorry, I apologize, but nothing I could say to anyone in this situation would make it less of what it is."

"You want me to forgive you?" He scoffed, not knowing if he could.

"No," It was solid.

She looked at him, blinked. "I want you to know that I'm sorry, you don't have to take it. It's not meant to change things. God knows."

He leaned back stiffly, sipped at his drink.

"Alright," He heard himself say.

It was funny he thought, the way things sometimes unfolded on themselves. He had sat in front of her for so many years, the same expression on his face, words falling from quivering lips, apologies so thick and fragrant, like homemade wine.

Blair please ... I'll be back ... I know ... home.

I have this project ... complicated procedures ... business ... I can't just let ... I'm leaving ...

But he had been stoic, puffed full of pride then.

"You don't think that you deserve it?"

"Probably," She admitted, "But don't make this difficult please. Can we not just talk like mature adults?"

Her gestures were soft, a little drunk around the edges.

"You can't ask behaviour of me that you don't exhibit."

"I'm trying Chuck."

"You sought me out," He defended, "And you're drunk."

"I seem to be doing that quite a bit lately," She mused, "Always having to find you."

"You knew where to look."

She nodded, looked around.

"I did but I didn't think you'd stay here- in the apartment I mean."

"I didn't want to leave."

He ached to touch her in some small way. He felt her in his heart and a piece tugged at him, as it always did when she was close enough, the man inside himself that still belonged to her. Somewhere.

"I always thought you'd come and find me, one day before I had the twins. I'd sit on the front steps of my house, pining for you. Then I started to loose the shape of your eyes, the way you spoke to me, how it felt when we were together and eventually I let it go enough to continue without you."

"You fell into another man's arms," He glowered. He already knew. "It doesn't take much skill to do that Blair, ask Serena."

She seemed to slow at the insult, sit with it.

"You already know that I still love you, don't think that I got over it." She blinked, sighed, rubbed her eyebrows with her fingers. "How many times had I tried that? It seemed nearly impossible to forget about you. I only convinced myself that things between us were too broken to fix and even that took practice."

"You love him and that alone says it all."

"I do," She faltered, "But you were the first and only man I had ever been with."

He remembered.

"I'm so sorry that I've hurt you," She added, "And I hope that you can forgive me at some point."

"Is that all?" He didn't know if he could stand another moment in the same room with her, so vulnerable and small, grasping at his coat tails. The way his fingertips burned for her touch. He couldn't train himself to be any other man.

"If you want me to leave, I'll walk out right now."

She made a move to stand up, falling back into the chair.

He got up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, "I'll get a car."

With that, he turned and walked into the kitchen, found his cell phone, called on his driver. When he returned to the living room, she was gone.

Rustling.

He followed the noise, tried to still his thrashing heart, moved quietly into the bedroom. Nonchalant, straight jaw, empty intention. A fresh drink between his fingers.

Because he didn't care.

He didn't love her.

It was old news.

He leaned into the frame, surveyed the dark room. The closet door was closed, light peeking out like a secret.

The scotch burned a trail down his throat.

She was sitting against the opposite wall, hugging her knees to her chest, chin on her palm. Blair.

All his suits had been pushed aside; some were on the floor, crumpled heaps of Armani and Yves Saint Laurent. She was amidst it all and staring.

When he let out a breath, deeper than he thought it would be, she turned quickly, as though she thought she might remain unnoticed.

"You never looked," She pressed, both asking and stating in the same moment.

His eyebrows knit together as he followed her gaze.

Underneath the shield of clothing, she had drawn a heart, signed her name in felt tip pen. I love you, it read, I always will. Blair Cornelia Waldorf.

They had been so close all this time, so far apart.

He had never looked; she hadn't given him reason to.

He stood still, back pressed to the wall.

They stayed silent for a time, circling each other without words.

"We both have things to apologize for," He said.

She looked at him. Confused.

"I'm sorry I gave you a reason to leave me and then pretended like there was no reason at all, like I shouldn't have expected it of you -of anyone, eventually."

Say something, anything, please.

"It sucks you know. We never expected anything from each other but the worst and I think that's why I was always okay with the way things were. The few times you hurt me, I always expected it. It took me so much longer to wrap my head around you when I thought that way, when we both let each other be."

She stood up, staggered towards him. He put out a hand, distance. He needed that.

Blair ignored it, swatted his arm away like it was a bug, stepped closer. Her forehead to his, deep breathing.

He was too weak from her gaze, from the forgotten memories; he could barely keep himself from needing this moment to be more than it was.

"The truth is," She whispered, her hand on his cheek, "I love you."

He was grabbing at her dress, pushing her backwards, pressing her up against the wall before he could catch his movements, calm them.

"Is it enough?" He bent into her ear, hand creeping up her thigh. It was easier to act on his impulse to touch her. To be what she saw in him, the only person who had ever truly believed in him, loved him.

"Was it ever?" She put her hand on his, "The question of them all."

He kissed her roughly. His hand sitting on her bare thigh in the darkness of the walk in closet. If he couldn't have her, if there were too many variables, too many bridges to cross, he would steal his heart back; he would take this moment and keep it for what it was.

She tasted like alcohol and tears. Not unlike every other time they had kissed, but she was right there underneath him, there was no plane to catch, no-one to impress. The mother of his children, his first love and she was grasping at his collar, looping her leg around his hip.

They could be this together if nothing else, he thought.

She broke away from him, pushed at his chest, turned her head away from him. "I'm drunk."

"I know," His words were ragged; she put space between them quickly, backed into the corner of the room.

"We just repeat what we know best together, don't we?" She asked, not wanting an answer.

Yes. They fell into each other, crumpled to bits in each others gaze. It was the way it had always been.

And both of them knew it.