"This isn't a game to me," she rebukes.

"Isn't it?" He questions, pressing his insistence forward. "You started this. You climbed into my carriage. You kissed me. I have spent the last five years of my life trying to move past you, but you – I see you and there's something inside my stomach. Fluttering."

"Butterflies?" She questions incredulously. Blair shifts her weight, feels his fingers tighten about hers instinctively to keep her from running. "And what happens when those butterflies die?"

He reminds her darkly of the passage of time, of the fact that things have not changed for him in the past five years, surprised she would ask him such a question given how long and how hard he has played this game with her. But she shakes her head at his words, shakes her head at his misunderstanding of what she means.

"What happens when you see the real me?" She questions.

"Haven't I already seen you?" He replies. If she expects his comments to be suggestive, the tone he employs does not carry such sentiments. Because, in his mind, he has seen the real Blair. He's seen Blair sobbing over her father's grave, ruling with an iron fist, freefalling over the way her life has spun outside her control, playing carefree with her brother, and half-naked and wanton against his desk.

"The thing that always fascinated me about you," he murmurs in an admiring tone. "The cool exterior. The fire below."

The fire below and the darkness that consumed her, that she has railed against all her life as she tries to protect herself and those she loves from further damage and suffering. And she cannot imagine why anyone would love those parts of her, but Chuck is standing in front of her claiming that he does and she feels slightly stunned at the knowledge. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, to stall until she can find the strength to send him away once more.

"The fire below will burn you," she warns.

Her voice cracks and she turns her head away to blink back tears as the memories and fears resurface to the forefront of her mind again. And he wants to reach out and comfort her, to tell her that he enjoys reveling in the darkness alongside her, but the last few months have made him weary and the words are spilling out of her mouth before he can intercept them.

"And when your heir is born with an open sore on his back and he dies alone because no one wants to hold something so revolting, you will—"

"I will mourn the loss of my son, and then I will hold his mother while she grieves and remind her that these tragedies happen," he interrupts. His tone is unflinching, unwavering in its rebuttal of her assumptions. "I will not allow anyone to blame her, to tell her she cursed my family because of who her father is and what he did. I will not stand by as she buries herself under the weight of God's wrath to try and cope. I will not send her away to the countryside and force her to lie about life in Paris. I will not have a marriage that is just for show."

"You—" she stammers as she grapples with the exposure of her secrets. "How did you—"

"That gossip columnist can write about my exploits all she wants," he replies as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bundle of papers. He holds them out to her and allows her to drop his hand in order to take the papers. "But I won't allow Dan Humphrey to make his name besmirching yours, to use your pain and suffering as his love letter to Serena."

She holds the papers in her hands and stares at the title written across the top in hurried script as though the writer could not slow down long enough to dot the 'I's and cross the 'T's. She raises her eyes, tries to entreat his for answers, but Chuck locks his jaw and calmly tells her that he has a party to host. He disappears before she can stop him, before she can call out for him to wait, and then she is left alone in the room where his mother, his younger self, and that necklace stare down at her. Blair sinks to the bench seat in front of the pianoforte, gingerly opens the bundle of papers, and begins to read.

The words are easily consumed as the story of her life is twisted and retold for her. And the tears begin to fall freely when her father's relationship with his valet, Roman, is exposed and his decision to take his own life is expressed in fifty-two words. Her tears mix with the words on the page quoting the midwife who attended her son's birth as referring to her as bringing the mark of the devil to the House of Grimaldi, and the ink is nearly washed away by the time she reaches the page detailing how Louis came to her house in a rainstorm to demand an annulment, caught a chill, and died without leaving a heir to secure his family's proud and noble lineage.

There is more – there is always more – but she tears the papers up angrily rather than continuing to read. They fall to pieces around her feet, fall to pieces in the same jagged design as her heart, and she grabs at her neck to try and cut off the choking sob that is rattling through her.

The soft sound of tiny feet and the scraping of nails against the floor cause her to frantically wipe away her tears, and she tries to mask her pain as her little brother climbs up onto the bench seat to her. The mutt places his head in her lap, and she strokes his soft fur rather than pushing him away. Her fingers brush against Aaron's, and she loops her free arm around her brother to pull him closer to her.

"I like it here," he whispers in their shared language. Blair tries to smile as she asks him why, as he prattles on and on about the duck pond and the big staircase that he slide down on his bottom and, of course, the dog. "Mister Bass said I can visit whenever I want. I think it's because he doesn't have anyone else to visit him."

The innocence behind his statement does not make his words any less true, any less impactful. But he's already marching onto his next topic as he picks up the scraps of paper spread around her and holds it up for examination. He wants to know what the scribbles mean, but she brushes off his question as she takes the paper from his hand and tells him not to waste his time with other peoples' lies.

"Where's your papa?" She questions instead, but the question is answered by Cyrus' appearance rather than Aaron's answer. The little boy is handed off to the housekeeper for watching over, although he manages to extra the promise of a treat before agreeing to leave his sister's side and he disappears from the room with a gleeful glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Did you send him in here?" Blair questions as Cyrus takes the now empty seat beside her. And it's all Cyrus can do not to laugh as he explains the decision to find Blair was all of Aaron's own doing and that with Blair as his sister, Eleanor as his mother, and Cyrus as his father, it will not be long before Aaron starts extracting more than just treats and trips the country from them all.

"I believe he wanted to find you to get you on his side for allowing him to keeping Monkey as his own pet. I already told him no, but he seems to have caught on to how weak I and Mister Bass are when it comes to you."

He laughs at his own joke; tries to lighten the damp and heavy mood, but his words fail to extract even a modicum of laughter for his stepdaughter. Cyrus sighs as he allows his eyes to dart around the room, to fall from the portrait hanging above the mantle to the shredded papers at his feet.

"You told Mister Bass about the baby," he says softly. Blair remains frozen in her seat with her eyes trained forward, but she manages to nod her head slowly in confirmation of Cyrus' words.

"Good," he replies. "You need to talk to someone other than Father Smyth. And if you won't talk to your mother or me, Serena or Dorota, then at least you have him."

"Do I?" She questions. "He said he's done. That he is tired of this repetitious go around between us."

"Yes, well, you have always been good at denial and seeing things the way you want to see them, my dear. It's high time someone call you out on it," Cyrus replies. Blair whips her head to glare at him, to rebuke his statements, but Cyrus is already pushing forward with his earnest questioning. "As for Mister Bass, did he make any mention about selling the Empire? Did he ask for his mother's necklace back?"

Blair shakes her head no, offering Cyrus the opportunity to raise his own hopes that maybe not all is lost between Chuck and his stepdaughter. But she crushes them once more when she reminds him that she made a promise to God, that she will not subject anyone else to her pain and darkness.

"We all have darkness and pain in our lives, Blair. What there is not enough of in our lives is happiness, of people choosing to accept the light that accompanies their darkness. It is okay to be scared. Between you and me, your mother terrifies me. But she has also made me the happiest I have ever been. And I would hate to see you deny yourself that pleasure because you think you don't deserve it."

Cyrus twists his body and hugs her dearly. His movements catch her off-guard and normally she spurns such contact, but this time she sinks gratefully into his embrace. He rubs her back soothingly and whispers his next few words into her ear softly.

"You lost a child. You have suffered dearly. But don't allow your life become repetitious in its unhappiness. Now is your turn to have the life your father, mother, and I always wanted for you."

She nods her head against his shoulder, allows his words to guide her shaky nerves. Cyrus attempts to break away after a long moment, but she pulls him tighter against her and allows her tears to fall freely onto his coat.

"Wait," she murmurs. "It's not enough."

And Cyrus laughs his deep, happy chuckle and squeezes her tighter as he tries to soothe and assure the closest thing he has to a daughter through the darkness and into the light.

The rolling landscape seems almost kissed by the setting sun, but her eyes are trained solely on the man standing at the shores of the pond with his dog sitting calmly alongside him. She half expected to find him in his study nursing a glass of scotch, but she can attest to the calming effect watching ducklings swim after their mother has on one's soul.

Monkey hears her first, flattens back his ears and stares cautiously as she approaches them. She pauses, half-expecting him to bark and send her away, and is surprised when he trots over towards her. She reaches down to scratch his ears and counts the ducklings swimming past his master as she tries to find the words to break the silence, to make him turn around and look at her.

"It's a—" she stutters, stammers as she gestures to the small lake, "very pleasant view."

"Indeed," the deep murmur replies. And yet he does not turn around, does not face her, and she falls back onto old habits as she points out the family of ducks floating past with their three ducklings. She waits with eyes trained on him rather than the ducklings, watches for movement on his part.

"Chuck," she whispers, hoping to send him over the edge and cause him to become so tense that he feels dizzy and has no choice but to turn and look at her. And when nothing comes, she circles to his right and reaches out to touch him, forcing him to finally turn and look at her.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

Her face falters at his hissed question, at the way he speaks harshly, and she drops her hand back to her side. She halts, stands perfectly still with her gaze fixated on his face searching and studying. He drags in another breath, narrows his eyes, and manages to repeat his question.

"What do you think you're doing?"

And maybe in another life she would have leaned forward and kissed him, she would have tried to make him see her through touch. But the numerous times he tried to employ that upon her lead them nowhere, and she forces herself to confess exactly what she wants him to understand.

"What you want isn't safe, and—"

"You and I are never going to be safe," he interrupts. "To you, what I want is dangerous. But I've already done the most dangerous things I could – giving you my mother's necklace, watching your marry another man, and then – five years, Blair. And I'm still no closer to making you realize that safety is overrated."

"I don't want you to hurt the way I hurt. I'd rather die than do this to you."

"You've already done it to me, Blair. Denied me you. Denied me a family. And I tell myself to stand by you through the worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've had because—"

He forces himself to swallow his feelings and turn away from her because he doesn't know if he can bear to hear her reject the last pieces he has to offer her. Because he's Chuck Bass and he's tired of being this man that chances after her.

"You say we can't be together. But you come to my house and kiss me. You get jealous when I dance with another woman," he states. "And every time I try to move on, you're right there acting like—"

"Acting like what?"

He sighs at her question because while he knows the answer, he doesn't know how to formulate it into words.

"Look down deep and tell if what you feel for me is real, or if it's just a game. If it's real, we'll figure it out. All of us. But if it's not, then please, Blair, just let me go."

"I—," she stutters.

He waits, watches her with his jaw locked and his eyes unblinking for her to finish her statement. No interruptions from him, no more half-answers from her.

"I have tried to assume the worst of you, to push you away and hide from the truth. I have tried to kill what exists between us, to run away from it. But I can't and I don't want to anymore."

"So what are you saying, Blair?"

"You said we'll figure it out together. And I need time to grieve, to know that what happened was not my fault and that God understands. But I too am tired of how repetitious and old this game has become, and I don't want to play it anymore. So if you can wait for me to accomplish what I need to do, if you can say three words, eight letters then I'm yours."

"You already have my necklace. You already know my answer," he reminds her. But she shakes her head and closes her eyes, and he knows that he must say it in order end this repetitious game of back and forth and capture the queen. "I love you, Blair."

"I love you, too."