AN: Hi! I didn't see this coming either, but the other week I was thinking about the way Blair and Chuck got married and how, though I was delighted to see them do so, it kind of rubbed me up wrong to see the way it happened. So much seemed left unsaid and there were so many open wounds (at least I felt) that needed fixing. I suppose that's what happens when you get a half-length series. Anyway, it got me thinking about how much work would have to go into a marriage like that, where grief, abandonment and serious betrayals of faith and trust had all been sort of pushed under a rug. So, I kind of wanted to explore it a bit more than we ever got to see on the show.

I have to pre-warn you that this isn't going to start out great, but chair are my beloved, and I'd never want to give them anything but a happy ending, so if you do decide to read, just trust me for a bit, okay? I just really feel like they needed time to figure out everything that went wrong and why, and we didn't get to see it!

I've started on a second chapter already, but wanted to gauge interest, as I know marital troubles don't create the kind of happy-go-lucky reading experience that a lot of people are looking for from their favourite TV couple. I don't think it'll be a long one.

Anyway, thanks, as ever, for being here for another of my inane ramblings.


January was always the bitterest month, ferocious winds howled at tall, groaning windows that rattled under the force of every gust. The air was icy, but not in the fresh, crisp way that flushed cheeks and nipped teasingly at ears. The ground was hard, and every step a thousand times longer and crueller than those taken by giddy feet in the summertime. Blair's mother's penthouse was deserted for the frosty season, even Dorota's bustling was absent. Only she haunted the lonely hallways, listening to every smack of the wind against another pane of glass, thinking, this time, it might give way, sending shards splintering across chequered marble.

She ought to have gone with Serena- Christmas would have passed by happily on the beach, and at New Year's arrival, she'd have watched the fireworks bursting brightly over Sydney Harbour in a sundress. Huddled by herself in the middle of Fifth Avenue, Blair could hardly remember why she'd ever rejected the idea of such a Christmas.

Her reason, though, had been a good one: The presence of one estranged husband, and that too of an interfering best friend. Serena, in her pleading, had faithfully promised he wouldn't even cross her path if she came along. But, having done her very best to avoid an unexpected Chuck Bass run-in, the man she'd fought so hard to keep, then left so coldly, the chance was not one she'd been willing to take.

There had been screaming, shouting, crying, begging and bargaining when she first put the matter on the table; separating from him hadn't been as easy as avoiding him had. Even now, she twirled the wedding band she kept for appearances around her ring finger. Blair still wondered if he wore his or if, as he'd threatened, he had launched it to the bottom of the East River. No, she'd done their blended family a favour by staying away.

She'd never fallen out of love with him- it wasn't something she thought herself actually capable of anymore. If anything, Blair loved Chuck too much. When she finally had left on that bleak morning in October he'd called her a quitter, alongside some other things she preferred to forget, and it had shredded her. She hadn't quit anything, not by herself anyway; it was a matter of self-respect, of self-preservation.

After Bart died, and Chuck took sole control of Bass Industries, Blair had known his workload would grow. It was something she'd foolishly thought she was ready for. As his evenings at the office grew longer and later, and her days grew quieter and lonelier, so too did the harsh lick of his temper when she asked for more from him. She made him feel like a failure, he'd told her, made him feel guilty for prioritising work when he had no other choice. It was a place they'd worked tirelessly to avoid going to, a place they'd promised themselves other couples ended up, but not them. When the chips were down, though, they were only human.

They'd been lying in bed, side by side and silent, when Blair first broached the topic – just a trial separation, she'd called it, she just felt so alone. Chuck had sighed and quietly instructed her to stop being ridiculous – he was tired now, he knew things weren't ideal, but they were married, they'd figure it out. It was just a trial, she had told him, they'd see if things got easier, if this, marriage, was what they both really wanted now that the dust had settled. Blair knew she needed Chuck, she'd just needed him to realise the same. It was a desperate bid to refocus his attention, a lesson she wanted to teach him that had gone too far. She'd never expected it to last for four months. Now, when it seemed that Chuck could do without her, she was entirely adrift.

Lost in her own thoughts, Blair's startled scream was shrill when the power fuelling the gentle light from the lamp beside her chair went dead.

'Oh.' She breathed, a hand resting against her thumping heart in the pitch black. 'The power.' A heavy sigh escaped her chest.

Nobody else was home, nobody would be coming home. The darkness had now enveloped her, the same way it had been slowly crawling around her mind.

No power meant no heat, and the air that night was far too cold to endure. Blair stood from the chair she'd been curled up in, the smack of the wind against the windows was now louder than ever in the pitch-black room. She felt for her coat, pulling it over her shoulders as she edged down the set of stairs reserved for these occasions.

In the foyer, the building's other residents huddled, buzzing quietly with apprehension while they waited for some resolution to their situation. Hours eventually passed, and they began to realise it would not come. So gradually, the crowds in the foyer began to filter out, seeking refuge with family or friends, one by one, until she was, again, left on her own. Perhaps, she thought, if she'd ever made an effort to get to know any of her neighbours, she would have been invited along with them. But she hadn't.

With Serena and Dorota out of the country, Blair knew that her only choice left was to slip quietly into the house she'd abandoned four months ago and hope he never found out she'd spent a night there. She searched her pockets for the little set of keys she'd never had the heart to let go of in the end. She'd sleep there just for the night and get out before he ever became any the wiser. They'd be in Australia until the end of the week at least.

As her car approached the pale-stoned beauty she'd once loved to call home, Blair wondered idly if he'd ever changed the locks. It wasn't out of the question. In fact, it was just the sort of thing he'd have done to get one up on her back in the days of banishments and fasts. But, as her key slipped into the lock and found purchase, she sighed with relief. The house was cold when she shut the front door behind her, but to her great joy, one flick of a switch bathed it in glorious light. Underfloor heating was worth taking a risk for.

It was the same, exactly the same; Chuck hadn't changed a single detail about the place. Blair wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but the house was a time capsule. She slipped her shoes off at the door and paced barefoot along the hardwood floors that gave way to stairs up to the bedrooms. First, she opened the door to what had been theirs, finding it, once more, untouched. There was the pale blue silk duvet they'd found while travelling through France on their honeymoon, he'd said it reminded him of the colour of her wedding dress. The Rothko he'd bought her, just because she'd said it made her feel nostalgic, hung above the gargantuan bed. She'd hardly taken anything when she left; it had been part of her route back, only he didn't seem to want her back so much anymore.

Blair stepped onto the carpet, its softness welcoming her feet. By his side of the bed, there was a watch, a little box containing his cufflinks and a notepad. She assumed, spotting the empty space across from it, that he'd had hers cleared away. But she found her old belongings stuffed into the nightstand drawer. It wasn't much, an eye mask, two pens alongside the last journal she'd written there, and the final remnants of a bottle of Chanel. She lifted the little glass, tipping its liquid contents from side to side before putting it back carefully. That he'd kept it at all, staying so distant from her as he had, was enough to make her heart ache.

The sadness that weighed on her shoulders was heavy and cloying. It looked like she'd never really left, like he was waiting for her to come home, with everything preserved for when she did.

Being in their bedroom was too much, so she closed the door on it and carried on down the hallway towards one of the guest rooms. This room, the one she'd chosen, was impersonal, not so intrinsically them. Blair curled her arms around herself beneath the duvet and drifted off to sleep.


It was late when Chuck arrived home. He had never wanted to go to Australia to begin with, more scared than he might have liked to admit that she could be there. Despite Serena's promises, he didn't quite trust his sister, and more markedly Blair's best friend, not to attempt something. Lily had been the one to convince him in the end, he'd always found it difficult to deny her. But now he was home. Safe from any sudden spousal appearances, safe to get back to work. Christmas without her had been hard.

His key slipped into the door easily. Surprised to find the house lit, a pair of shoes by the hallway confirmed his suspicions. Somewhere, the housekeeper was busy making up beds that nobody ever slept in.

Coming home was always strange; the déjà vu never ceased. He'd hear the shrill ring of her voice, bubbling up from the pantry as she berated another maid who just couldn't meet her high standards; he'd catch, what he was sure was, a whiff of her perfume clinging to the air. It never became easier.

When Blair left him, it hadn't come entirely out of the blue. He'd known she wasn't as happy as she'd been in the beginning, but he'd never expected they would just give in, that they wouldn't even make it a year.

The first few months had been bliss, more than bliss. They travelled Europe together and spent every waking hour in each other's company, just like they'd always wanted. It was after Bart's funeral, a strange occasion when repeated, that things began to take a turn. Chuck re-inherited Bass Industries, but the people were warier of him than they'd ever been. He knew there would be talk, but the whisperers in hallways, speculating about rooftops and murder, weren't nearly as quiet as they ought to have been, strange glances were shot, and his own staff would stop short and turn the other way when they saw him coming.

He didn't want to instil fear, to be like his father, he'd never wanted that. So, determined to win his people back, he'd thrown himself into work, Blair's encouragement from the sidelines giving him the strength to do it. She'd paled a little too distantly into those sidelines in the end. It had all just happened so quickly- one day she was there, the next gone.

It was his fault, he supposed. But their marriage, to him, was sacred enough to survive a rough patch. For her, it seemed it hadn't been. If he was honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd always known she'd go eventually. She always had- everybody did in the end. No amount of repenting could ever make up for the ways in which he'd hurt her – hurt a lot of people. She was his prize and his punishment. If heaven and hell were wrapped up in one person, that was his Blair, and this, their home, his purgatory. She was, he knew unequivocally now, the way the world made sure he paid every day for the things he'd done wrong.

He'd thought about going to her almost daily, begging for her back the way he'd begged her to stay while she'd had one foot out of their front door. But she had been the one to demand the space. Just one shred of his pride was left that he clung to tightly.

Chuck slipped his shoes off beside the pair that sat just outside the hallway. He smirked for a moment at how familiar the pair looked together. If he was ever to stop the déjà vu, the housekeeper would have to wear Sketchers. He began the familiar ascent to his bedroom.

The room was the same as always, and he sunk onto his side of the bed. It hardly mattered anymore, but he still wouldn't stray into the middle. Staying firmly to his side was, he'd realised, the only way to avoid thinking too long about the fact she wasn't on hers anymore. He dreamt of her often. Sometimes the dreams were lucid enough to feel real, others served simply as nightmares sent to torment him. Groaning, he closed his eyes, he'd spent too long thinking about her already.

When he woke to dull winter light streaming weakly in through the windows, Chuck knew it was the early afternoon at best. A glance at the clock on his nightstand confirmed he'd slept through almost an entire day. He hauled himself out of bed and into the bathroom, where a hot shower did little to rouse him from the sleepy haze of jet lag. There was music playing quietly downstairs, the housekeeper sometimes forgot her headphones, and he walked towards its source, scratching the top of his damp head.

When he reached the music, he stopped short. Chuck shook his head, still clouded by exhaustion, he rubbed his tired eyes, but when they opened again, he saw the very same image in front of him.

With chestnut hair piled on top of her head, and one of his shirts slung over her shoulders, barefoot in the kitchen, his wife poured filter coffee into a china cup she'd put on their gift registry. He hated them, but they'd made her smile, so they'd got them.

Disbelieving, and stood frozen as a statue, Chuck watched in silence as she moved about the large kitchen, opening and closing cupboards as though she hadn't packed her bags and left their marriage behind months ago. And she was humming, humming along to the music she blared noisily from her phone like she had not a care in the world.

For just a while, he let his eyes trail over the shape of Blair in front of him. Nothing from the last four months was real in that moment. She was there fumbling with coffee filters because they'd woken up together, starving for breakfast on a day that they'd decided to give the housekeeper off. Fetching him a coffee was, as she'd put it with a jubilant giggle in their earliest days of marriage, just a way of fulfilling her wifely duties.

Leaning against the doorframe, he watched her for a few more stolen seconds. To say it pained him would have been an understatement; there was nothing more he wanted than to go to her, wrap her up in his arms and breathe in the uniquely Blair scent that hung like the world's most luxurious perfume at the base of her neck.

'Will you pour me one?'

The words left his lips before he'd considered what breaking the spell might have meant.

Blair's shoulders jolted and she spun around on the spot, sending her cup and its entire contents flying all over the pristine counters. Music blared on as shards of china spread across the floor. A speck of blood beaded on her bare foot, but she didn't look down. Her wide eyes were locked on his, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

'No, please.' He chuckled, still leaning casually. 'Don't stop on my account. Why wouldn't you be making coffee in my kitchen?'

It was the first time they'd spoken since the morning after her birthday; Blair might have thought he was some sort of monster, but even monsters didn't miss Waldorf birthdays.

He'd shown up at her mother's place and stood outside, pacing for thirty minutes before going up. He'd tried such tactics before, and she'd sent him away without fanfare every time. Something that night had made him try once more.

Blair had been half-drunk on a bottle of champagne and lonely when he called up- there was desperation in her eyes. She took the flowers he'd offered her, discarded them on the table in the foyer without a second glance and pulled him wordlessly up to her bedroom for the rest of the night. He should have known better than to think it a proper white flag. In the morning, she brought the hammer down, pretending nothing had happened while she had Dorota kick him out like an old dog. He'd gone colder on her after that; it had been cruel.

'The cup.' She bleated, drawing him back to the present time. Her gaze flickered down towards the broken china.

He thought she was a mean woman to have cared most about the cup.

'What- not even a hello?' Chuck stayed cool and aloof.

'You scared me.'

'I could say the same.'

Blair sidestepped the broken mess and edged away from the scene. He watched her eyes darting between him and the door. She had no way out but past him.

'Nice shirt, by the way. Did you forget you left an entire closet behind?'

His mouth dried at the easy familiarity of her in just his old shirt, four buttons done up, her feet warmed by the underfloor heating she'd insisted on installing. He noticed her wedding band catching the light and slipped his own off inside his pocket; he couldn't allow her every last victory.

Her mouth dropped into a frown. She was defeated and knew it well.

'I don't understand you at all, you know.' His lips quirked, but it was a sad, half-smile.

Blair's eyes were brimming with fear. A wealth of love for her burned beneath his ire.

'Just let me go and put my clothes on, let me get my things. Then I'll come back down and explain, okay?' Her voice was small and scared.

He couldn't let her disappear off to prepare her statement, not now he had the upper hand for the first time. 'Not this time.' Chuck shook his head and pointedly glanced at the couch by the window. 'Sit down.'

Blair furrowed her brow and pulled at the corner of the shirt barely covering the tops of her thighs. 'Chuck.' She said, pleading as he crossed the room to take a seat himself. 'Please, I'm not even dressed.'

'You're perfect. Sit.'

He hadn't meant it in the way he used to say it to her, but something made her acquiesce anyway.