Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews! I must say, I quite agree with everyone's Dan/Blair music choices. Coldplay, Dashboard Confessional, Lifehouse, Michelle Branch, love it all for Dair! I have to say this too, I get some of the funniest reviews for this story. So far I've been promised brownies, I ought to replace Cecily von Ziegasar, been agreed with, and have been called a queen. And just so you know, all of it made me smile for about a year and brag to everyone and anyone, even after they tell me to shut up and roll their eyes. I love you guys! Here is more Dair for your angsty enjoyment!

Chapter Sixteen
"You swear you recall nothing at all
That could make you come back down
You made up your mind
To leave it all behind
Now you're forced to fight it out
You fall away from your past
But it's following you
You left something undone
It's now your rerun
You fall away from your past
But it's following you."
-The Fray

Once upon a time, Blair had gotten a secret thrill from hearing people talk with genuine British accents. Sure, she lived in New York City, came in contact with British people all the time, and heard the accent often, but it had never ceased to give her chills and make her smile. She would always act nonchalant and casual when speaking to someone British, usually because Serena was with her, and Serena had been so exposed to England, Japan, and India growing up because of her father's company, that she didn't care otherwise. For Serena, hearing a British accent was like hearing Nana van der Woodsen talking. But for Blair, hearing the accent was like a feather-light kiss on the cheek; it was like Audrey Hepburn winking, only through vocalization, through someone else's words and voice. The British accent was special, no matter what they were saying, she had always loved it, had always basked in the sound.

Until now.

"Can I get you a drink, miss?"

Blair sent the British Airways stewardess a withering glare as the plane bucked against the turbulent air. The woman had a blonde bob, and her blue eyes were wrinkled, covered in fading liner and mascara. Her uniform and her yellowing teeth were too big for her, and there was a slight run in her stocking. She clutched the back of Blair's chair as the plane pitched down a little, trying to keep her crooked smile intact. But it wasn't even her appearance that made Blair scowl, it was the woman's voice. That British accent, all polite and stern and cheerful. It made her want to punch out her eardrums.

What gives, Audrey Hepburn?

Blair clutched at the arms of her chair, trying to keep herself from moving too suddenly, "A drink? No, but could you get that kid behind me to shut up, maybe?"

"I'll try," the woman said, her forced politeness shining past Blair's bitchy attitude.

Faintly, she heard the stewardess ask the mother behind her if it was possible to quiet her son down. The mother had told her she was trying, but the turbulence was making him nauseous and his ears were popping.

Join the fucking club kid! Blair wanted to turn around and shout, but she kept herself planted to her seat.

She had been surprised at how quickly her mother had agreed to let her go to France for Thanksgiving. All she had had to do was mention her nearly perfect class attendance, the fact that she never saw her father, and that she wanted to be out of the way for her mother's uptight, business Thanksgiving dinner party. And she was grateful that her mother had given in and agreed, but now everything and everyone was making her irritability venomous, and she was striking out at any chance she got. The accents pissed her off. The airport waiting room had pissed her off. The food pissed her off. The kid pissed her off. The seat pissed her off. The musty smell of stale plane-air pissed her off. Everything just seemed to make her want to lash out and punch someone across the face. And, inside, she was screaming.

To start off, not only had her flight to London been delayed, it had also been unbearable.

The whole time she had sat up in her giant first class seat, leaning against the window, watching the night sky pass by. The hours ticked away on the late flight, and everyone around her fell asleep. But Blair kept her overhead light on, biting her nails and willing away her nausea and anxiety. She tried to sleep, but thoughts of Dan, Serena, and Nate blossomed in her head, causing her to open her eyes and sit up. The thoughts weren't even coherent or formed, only pinpricks of ideas, or images of their faces, enough to send her reeling. She was trying to escape all of them, but she couldn't get away. So, she stayed awake for the whole flight, eating every meal and snack they offered her, finding it effortless to purge it all because of her air sickness. And when the stewardesses asked her if she was feeling well she told them flying made her nauseous, and they all gave her sympathetic smiles.

But when the early morning hours slipped forward, Blair found herself getting warmer and warmer in the close quarters of the plane. Someone diagonally behind her kept coughing and clearing his throat, making her dig her fingernails into her palm with restlessness. A woman sitting a few seats away from her began to spray herself with some cheap imitation perfume, making it hard for Blair to breathe. On top of it all, her head felt as if a thick pressure was pushing down on it, she wanted a shower, her nausea was mounting, and her legs were cramping. And for some reason, she focused on these annoyances and discomforts, she needed to, otherwise she would think about her fight with Dan and her heart would ache, or she would see Serena and Nate flirting, and realize she hardly cared at all. But whether she wanted to go through with her plan or not, she didn't want to decide or even think it over, she wanted to stop thinking about it all completely, if only for a few days. So, she focused on feeling as if she was going to throw up, and her inability to breathe properly.

So, by the time she had landed in London, she was fuming. She sat in the airport terminal, forced to stay inside for the two hour wait because of frigid winds outside. She ended up munching on two bags of Cheetos, drinking a bottle of diet Coke, and reading a copy of British Vogue. And when she got on her next flight, she was even more sick, extremely tired, and clearly pissed off. Which was why she had snapped at the stewardess. To her credit, she had only slept for a half an hour on the flight she was currently on, and the only thing she had eaten and kept down in two days were the Cheetos and soda, so she was understandably irritable.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased to tell you that we are currently over Lyon and shall be landing within the next few minutes," the pilot's voice announced over the plane. "If you would, please stay in your seats until we land. Thank you."

Blair looked out the window, through wispy clouds and over dark landscapes. She couldn't tell that it was France, but she knew she was far away from Manhattan, and that was all she cared about, that was all that mattered.

Dan noticed that Blair wasn't in school on Tuesday or Wednesday that week, and he was concerned, but then his anger only turned to unabated anger.

After leaving her house on Monday he had blindly stormed into Central Park and walked. He walked until he shook violently from the cold, until his nose was red and runny, until he could barely move his toes, and until goose bumps rose up all over his body. Thoughts raced throughout his head, like bullets toward a target. He was reeling from his argument with her, from the meaning and ideas hidden behind the words she actually spoke and the things she actually did. He had been slightly ashamed, but mostly in a rage, when he thought of Blair being embarrassed to be seen with him. Is that what her whole game was? Keep him with Serena so he'd stay in the inner circle, but she'd date Nate because he was the right material, because she didn't want to suffer the brunt of the society backlash for dating someone from Brooklyn? He shook his head and breathed heavily, fuming for the rest of the day.

And when he noticed she wasn't in school, he worried for a few hours.

He had heard all the horror stories in health, about girls with eating disorders, specifically bulimia. Was Blair out of school because she ruptured her stomach? God forbid, had her heart failed? Maybe her mother had found out and had sent her away to a rehab clinic. He could only form discomforting ideas, making him even more restless and filled with anxiety.

And when Serena came to him in the courtyard during lunch and asked if he wanted to get food with her, he had asked, "You're not eating with Blair?" trying to sound nonchalant about it.

"No," she pouted playfully. "Blair went off to France to stay with her dad for Thanksgiving- He just bought a vineyard in Lyon."

And just like that, all of Dan's anxious visions of Blair being sent to the hospital or a rehabilitation center across the country slipped from his mind. He was relieved, of course, but the feeling was slowly replaced by fury. They had had a fight, and she had decided to skip town for a little vacation. It pissed him off that she was enjoying herself on a vineyard in Europe, while he was stuck in the city, pissed off. He could just see her, laughing and flirting with the young French boys in town, like a little coquette in designer clothes, having a good time, caring about nothing. And when he compared this idea, to his own feelings, freezing his ass off, with Serena wanting to go with him to get lunch, he grew even more annoyed.

The truth was, he cared too much, and he knew it. As much as he loved her, as much as he was missing her and knew he would miss seeing her around for the remainder of the week, his pride had been wounded by a possibility, and now he couldn't help but feel passionately angry. Even when it was probably effortless for her to forget about the fight, he couldn't help it. He was just thinking about it too deeply.

Serena bounced on her toes, "Anyway- Do you want to go to lunch?"

He was so angry, so distracted and, sort of jealous, that he nodded his head and left with her.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?"

Blair turned her head, seeing a little French girl pointing to a computer screen in the impressive Lyon Saint-Exupery Airport, looking quizzically at her parents. The family shuffled along with their bags, talking animatedly as they went. Blair sighed, finally feeling lighter as she stood in the middle of airport. She had already gotten her bags, and was now waiting for her father, but for the first time in what felt like weeks, her mind was quiet and still. Maybe it was because she was so tired, or maybe it was because she was so far from her problems, and that fact was so evident with so much French around her. She knew she was on another continent, she finally felt like she was far enough from Serena, Nate, and most of all, Dan, that she could breathe, and actually think straight.

Suddenly, from several meters behind her, came a familiar, very American voice, "Blair-Bear!"

Whirling around, she saw her father walking toward her, a big grin on his slightly weathered face. She realized, just then, how much she had been missing him and everything about him. She missed the smell of his cologne, missed the special dinners he sometimes made for the family, the way he wasn't always so hard and controlling when it came to her purging, the way his eyes and smile were so warm and welcoming; she even missed seeing his razor in the bathroom cabinet, or his clothing in the master bedroom. And because she hadn't seen him in so many months, hadn't heard his voice in person or looked at his face before her, tears sprang to her eyes. She felt like she needed him more than ever, like he could help ease the frustration and confusion that had been plaguing her for weeks.

Forgetting about the suitcase that rested at her feet, she ran forward and threw her arms around his middle. He laughed, putting his arms around her and hugging her tightly. She took a deep breath, basking in the comforting smell of her father, feeling her shoulders relax, her heartbeat calm.

"I missed you," she heard herself saying.

He kissed the top of her head, "I missed you too," he said, and when they pulled away he was very nearly beaming at her. "I'm so glad you decided to stay with us."

"Thanksgiving is our thing," she reminded him.

Nodding with a smile, he walked over and picked up her suitcase, his free arm around her, guiding her toward the exit.

"Thanksgiving is going to be a little different this year," he told her. "We're going to cook a classic Thanksgiving meal, but we also have a surprise for you afterwards."

She giggled, feeling lighter and happier, just by being in her father's presence. She said, "I can't wait!"

He pulled her closer as they walked, saying, "Let's get home quickly, Roman is making us dinner."

Even when her father said it she didn't feel too territorial or angry or embarrassed or upset, she just felt happy to be spending time with him, to be in France.

When school ended on Wednesday afternoon everyone filed out of the building, loud and excited, pleased to have a longer weekend than usual, to sleep in and party. Dan, on the other hand, was still dealing with a heavy heart, and he walked to the subway station with a slow, shuffling gait.

He had gone with Serena to Starbucks the previous day, to get lunch like she had asked. And as they sat at a table, she spooning parfait into her mouth and he trying to eat a turkey wrap, he thought about how pretty she was. That was why he had liked her in the beginning, because she was beautiful, but her beauty didn't run past the surface for him, not enough that he would love her. She had the flowing mane of blonde hair that he believed Aphrodite to have, and deep blue eyes. Her smile was nearly infectious and her personality was bubbly, but he knew, more than ever, that he didn't like her anymore, not in the way she thought he did anyway.

But she was a nice person, she tried to please everyone and she wanted to have fun, she didn't deserve to be lied to, he decided.

"Blair's so lucky," Serena had chattered away, munching on granola. "I would love to go to Lyon for the week."

He contemplated, for several minutes, whether he should tell her the truth.

Blair's forcing me to 'date' you.

I don't love you.

I've been secretly seeing your best friend.

Blair- I'm in love with Blair.

But he couldn't do it. Blair was involved in that equation, it was just as much her business as it was his, and he felt he couldn't reveal their affair to anyone without her consent. Whether he was pissed at her or not, he would keep it a secret. For now.

Serena had asked, "Have you ever been out of the country?"

Sort of surprised to be speaking, he said, "Uh-Yeah, I've been to London, Vienna, and Venice."

"Where's Vienna?" she asked.

He paused, thinking she was kidding. Slowly, he said, "Austria."

"Oh wow! That's cool!" she licked her spoon. "I've been all over India, Japan, and England- My dad owns this company..."

But he wasn't listening to her anymore. He was thinking about whether or not he should tell her he didn't want to 'see' her anymore, instead of telling her about Blair and him. He could just say that he thought it wasn't working out, that they didn't have proper chemistry or something, but he felt that was too cheap. He nearly wanted to sigh, he was so unsure of everything. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to end things with her, that this false relationship was unfair, but he didn't want to do it, as if it were behind Blair's back. Maybe if she had been in New York he would have been able to do it, just so she could have the chance to fight back, but how would she find out, and fight, when she was in France?

He sighed out loud.

Serena put her hand out, "Oh my gosh, am I totally boring you?" she covered her mouth. "I talk too much, I know-"

"No," he tried to smile. "No, it's not you- I'm just- just really tired. Sorry."

She waved it off, "Do you want some of my coffee?"

Sharing Serena's drink with her?

"Oh-uh- no, thanks."

Maybe if it was Blair's.

Goddamnit! he had thought to himself, angry, once again.

And now, as he navigated his way through the subway stations, he recalled the lunch date and cringed. He hadn't been able to stop anything with Serena, or tell her the truth, and it was all because Blair was in France. So, he was back to square one.

Briefly, he wondered where he and Blair would stand when she returned. Would they speak or would she ignore him? Would they go back to purely physical contact, without talking or actually knowing one another? Would she demand he continue seeing Serena and keep dating Nate? He couldn't be sure, either way, but the questions vanished from his mind as he missed his train, and focused on getting home.

When Blair and her father arrived at the vineyard, she nearly gasped. The house was set in the middle of a rolling town that spread out across quite a few miles. As they pulled into the driveway she saw the rows and rows of neat burgundy, still in the quiet night air. The actual house, located across the driveway from the field, was an ancient little farm house, with an extension of more modern standards, but still flowing together, added on. The roof was brown, with dark plates running along the slope, all the way to the chimneys. The walls were made of smooth stone, creamy and warm in the chilly wind. Old, paned windows, lit with bright lamps from within, jutted into the house, antique and charming.

"Oh Dad," she sighed, as he turned the car off. "It's beautiful."

He smiled, "I knew you'd like it."

They got out and he grabbed her bag from the backseat, leading her to a small front stoop. Opening the door, he lead her into a small entryway, opening directly into a small, low-ceilinged living room. Off to the right was a desk, against a wall, below a picture window, with a computer and some papers on it. Straight ahead was a fireplace, with a painting, called Ville-d'Avray, hanging above it. A flat screen TV was mounted against the far wall, almost catty-corner to the fireplace, and a couch, a love seat, and an armchair all faced the television and the fireplace forming a right angle of furniture. Blair felt that the living room was made warm because of the original beams that crossed over the ceiling, the trinkets and homey things placed around the room, and the fact that a blanket and a sweater were laying carelessly across the couch, and a cup had been left on the table. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the smell of cooking onions, mozzarella cheese, and fresh bread.

Suddenly, a dog with long white hair, a curly tail, pointy ears, and bright blue eyes bounded up to Blair's father, trying to jump up onto him. Harold laughed and pet the dog.

"Blair, this is Meador," he said. "Roman and I adopted him a month or two ago."

The dog was cute, but something about it made Blair feel uneasy. Her dad was really settled into France, and for the first time, it hit her that he wouldn't be coming home, that he loved Roman, that he was starting a new life for himself. She swallowed, trying to smile. Patting the dog on the head, she walked into the living room.

A cheerful looking Roman entered a small room, a step up from the living room. In this room was a small couch and built-in bookshelf, looking cozy and warm.

"Blair!" he said, his accent thick, and his smile wide.

She tried to smile, feeling weary of him all of a sudden, "Hello Roman."

He approached her, giving her an awkward hug that she lightly returned, "How was your flight?" he asked, pulling away from her.

"Fine," she replied, starting to get suffocated and claustrophobic.

"That is good," he smiled, glancing at Harold. "Dinner is ready, so, we'll go to sit down in the kitchen, yes?"

They walked through the small room, and Blair found that it was really a wide hallway, and it lead into the new addition of the house, into the massive kitchen.

Blair felt as if she had walked into a different house. The living room had been so small and cozy, but the kitchen was large and chilly. It was all granite, tile and steel. There was an island counter, with a basket of fruit laid out. On the opposite side of the kitchen was a shiny, wooden table, all set for them to eat. Each place held a bowl of steaming soup, and a small plate for the fresh bread that was in a basket on the table. There were wine glasses set out, with a bottle of wine, waiting to be poured.

They sat down, Harold and Roman across from each other, and Blair on the side.

"Dig in!" Roman said gaily, laughing at his own use of the American saying.

Hesitantly, Blair began to eat the onion soup, with mozzarella cheese melted over it. It was delicious, of course, but she didn't want to admit it right now, she didn't want to admit that Roman was good in anyway, that he might be good enough for her father. No one was good enough for her father if he was going to take him away from her like this.

Roman came up from sipping his soup, saying, "Blair, I hope you like soup a l'oignan?"

She smiled wanly, "I do, thanks."

"That is good," he picked up the bottle in the middle of the table. "And you will have some wine?"

She knew she would need it with the evening she was going to deal with, "Yes, thank you."

Because Rufus would be at work later than usual, he had asked Dan to make a simple spaghetti dinner for them, instead of ordering take-out again. Dan had obliged, and as he started to break up the pasta and drop it into the boiling water, his phone rang.

He turned to the counter and picked it up.

Blair.

His throat tightened and his heart sped up.

Flicking his tongue over his lips, he decided to answer it.

"Hello?"

"D-Dan?" Blair said.

He knotted his eyebrows, "Yes?"

"Ibe-Ibe-I'm sooooooo glad joo answered," she slurred.

Dan looked at the phone, feeling as if he was in some kind of parallel universe, "Blair, are you drunk?"

"Just some wiiiiiiiiiiiiine," she said, snorting with laughter. "But I just needed- I needed to talk to you."

He sighed, "What is it?"

"Ibe- I'm not ashamed of you," she told him. "I'm really not."

"You're drunk-"

She cut him off, "Lizzen to me!"

He stayed silent, waiting, his mind reeling, angry again.

"I'm not ashamed of you- I could never be ashamed of you," she managed to say, sounding as if she was almost going to cry. "I lub you. But it's so harrrrrrrd."

He shook his head, growing impatient, "What's hard?"

"It!"

She wasn't making sense, and his patience had vanished when his anger had appeared, "Blair, I'm hanging up now."

"No-"

"Talk to me when you're back in the country- When you're sober," and he hung up.

Turning back to the boiling water he let out a slow breath through his nose.

Drunk dials hardly ever end well. Dan and Blair are no exception.

Blair crashed that night, long after her father and Roman had gone to bed. She had thrown up her dinner, furious and anxious about her father and his gay lover and the little home they had created together. It was right after the meal, when they were sitting around the table, when her father called Meador his little baby, and Roman made a joke that it was their child. With a laugh and a smile she had left the table, saying she needed to use the bathroom. With the faucet on she had thrown up, and then had gone back to the table and guzzled down a few glasses of wine. Her father had looked at her oddly, as if he could see through her smiles and jokes, but, he didn't say anything to the effect, so she kept her act going.

When the two had gone to bed, Blair had taken a shower, feeling the alcohol working too well on her blood stream. She swayed in the shower and stumbled into her room, managed to dry herself off and slip into some pajamas before collapsing on the bed.

The ceiling had spun before her, and her stomach had churned, but she didn't move, didn't want to purge.

Without meaning to, her mind turned to Dan, and her drunkenness prevented her from changing the filmstrip in her head. The alcohol made her guilty, made her feel bad, made her miss him, and made her lonely. So, at that moment, her logic told her to call him, and so she had. But as she fell asleep, the phone clutched in her hand, she couldn't remember the conversation, or who Dan even was. She didn't care where she was, or what problems she was dealing with, all she knew was the delirium that took over before she fell into her drunken sleep.

Well, that is one way to escape your problems.

Author's Note: Next chapter? Thanksgiving! It's going to shift away from Dan and Blair for a little bit in the next chapter, to focus on Blair and her dad's relationship, and her feelings about his life now. But that will only be about 25 of the chapter, the rest, of course, will be Dair! If anyone takes French in school you'll notice the dog's name, Meador, is the most cliche name for a dog in a French textbook. I know my whole French class has some inside jokes over it, I don't know if anyone else knows what I mean. Haha. Anyway! Hope you enjoyed chapter sixteen! Reviewing is always appreciated!