A/N: I wanted to submit this earlier but...idk. My fics will be pretty slow coming for awhile. But I'm still writing, so do not fear. If you were.

Summary: He met her children first. Little twin nine-year-olds. A boy and a girl named Dorian and Portia. They had dark features and even darker dispositions, but he was sure all of society saw them as the pure and perfect children of Blair Waldorf.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except the three fictional characters you will be encountering. Chuck and Blair belong to their respective artists. This is just for entertainment.

He met her children first. Twins. A boy and a girl named Dorian and Portia. They had dark features and even darker dispositions, but he was sure all of society saw them as the pure and perfect children of Blair Waldorf.

They sat pristinely in public, and with such perfection that no one would ever realize how Dorian's eyes narrowed coldly and how cruelly Portia's tongue cut. They were only nine years old.

He saw them in his employer's office. He should have known they were trouble from the start.

They truly were Blair Waldorf's children.

"What are you doing here?"

Portia always spoke to him. She was usually the only one. He found himself staring into familiar dark, wide eyes, unable to understand how a child could already be so entitled.

Her brother was sitting quietly in the corner of the penthouse.

He remembered the first time he saw them. He saw them shadowing their mother dutifully as he got Serena her coffee, but it never occurred to him that months later, he would be arriving at the Waldorf Penthouse past midnight being interrogated by a little girl.

"Mr. Hayden."

Hayden Belmont was about to answer the child's question before the maid cut him off. He gave Dorota his friendliest smile. He knew it fell short. Dorota never liked him very much anyway.

She was loyal.

"Mrs. Blair not home."

He saw the way she stepped protectively in front of the little girl. He never thought of himself as predatory. He never thought Dorota's title for her mistress would hurt so much.

"Can he stay, Dorota?" Portia asked innocently, batting her eyelashes. Hayden understood that Dorota must know better. Hayden knew he was trespassing.

"Your mama said no visitors."

"He won't be very long."

He couldn't help but feel the foreboding, as the maid was about to acquiesce.

Portia was staring at him again, and again, he couldn't help but think she knew more than she should be capable.

"Alright," Dorota said reluctantly, turning away. "I'll be in kitchen."

Portia blinked at him. He knew the maid was leaving him in the lions' den.

He was always nervous when he was alone in the room with the twins.

Dorian never said anything. His dark hazel eyes were different from his sister's. His stare was penetrating and he could say all the he needed to with just a look.

Hayden was not welcome.

"Did my mother make plans with you tonight?" Portia asked. She was the epitome of innocence. But he knew she acquired her habits hereditarily and there was nothing innocent about her.

He knew exactly what she was trying to do.

It wouldn't surprise him if she succeeded.

Though Dorian had an unsettling presence, Portia was the one to look out for. She was cunning, as much as someone could be for her age. Eventually she spoke the truth. Hayden just didn't like how much the truth wounded.

"Not exactly."

"Then you know where she is."

"Meeting with her lawyer," Hayden stated matter-of-factly.

"Meeting with my daddy," Portia corrected.

"A mediator," Hayden replied, wondering why he was arguing with a five year old. "Divorce proceedings."

"They're separated," Portia said breezily.

Hayden wondered how much her mother shared with her and her brother.

"I'm sure there's a reason for it."

Hayden wasn't sure how it was possible for Dorian to scowl any more than he already was.

He succeeded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" Portia asked. He didn't want to think that her naivety was just an act.

"I shouldn't…"

He shouldn't forget that they were still just children, no matter what loins helped breed them.

"My mother isn't expecting you," Portia stated matter-of-factly, ignoring is apology.

"Hopefully it's a good surprise," he attempted. As much as he tried to sound positive, he knew it fell flat.

Portia didn't say anything, but he knew that look.

Don't hold your breath was what it said. He couldn't help but feel that she was right.

"Do you think she'll be happy to see you?"

"She usually is."

Portia blinked at him blankly. He didn't like how she was hacking away at his being with just a look.

She really did look like her mother.

"My mother likes plans," Portia said.

"I know."

"She planned to see my daddy tonight."

"I know."

"Not you."

He could hear the antagonism starting to seep into her voice. He knew this was the part of the night where Blair's intimidating children would run him out of the house.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked uncomfortably.

"No," Portia smiled. "You're funny."


He didn't like the sound of that. It was worse that they saw him as a joke than as a threat.

"That's why Aunt Serena likes you."


She found herself more attracted to being the cool aunt than giving her niece and nephew any structure.

That had to be where all this so-called knowledge was coming from.

"She tells you a lot," Hayden assumed.

"She told us that you were the last person she expected my mother to like."

"Your mother likes me?" He couldn't help it. He knew goading small children was unseemly, but he had to take his victories where he could. He knew where their loyalties lay.

"My mother would have called security on you if she didn't," Portia said. "Even though she won't take you out in public."

"Serena told you that as well?" Hayden asked.

"She told me she disapproves," Portia says. "Like everyone does."

Hayden didn't have to wonder. He knew exactly what she was referring to. He couldn't help but protect himself from it.

"She's only ten years my senior," Hayden said defensively.

Portia was smiling pleasantly again, her previously pleasant demeanor vanishing.

Hayden wished he didn't look over to see her worse half. He had never seen Dorian smile before. This was worse. It was a smirk that was so familiar he knew he had seen it in the papers.

"Did your mother say when she'd be back?" Hayden asked, trying to break the tension.

"She didn't make plans with you."

"So she didn't say?"

"She said around ten," Portia said.

Hayden looked at the clock and wondered how it was possible the children were still awake. "It's almost midnight."

Hayden wished Portia would stop smiling.

He knew that she was smug—as much as a child could be.

"She doesn't know that you're here," Portia said with a tone that could be considered wicked if she wasn't so young. "She might not even come back tonight."

"Does mediation usually take this long?" Hayden asked, pretending that sentence didn't have the connotation he knew it did. He needed to block out his cresting anxiety.

"Not usually," she responded casually. "But you know Daddy."

"I've never met him," Hayden said, avoiding her probing eyes. But that only meant he found himself staring at her brother who was looking more and more familiar.

"You've read the papers," she responded. "You know who he is." It really was incomprehensible to her that no one would know who her father was.

Hayden hated how she was right.

He couldn't look away from Dorian. Dorian who was looking less and less like Blair; Dorian with his sweeping cheekbones and slanting eyes; Dorian who was the spitting image of an emperor.

He knew why he hated looking at the boy.

"So you're staying?" Portia asked. It wasn't taunting. That was what worried him. Every time he was around these children, he found himself analyzing words more carefully, keeping himself more alert to nonverbal cues.

It worried him.

"You said it was alright," Hayden said. It would be in his best interests to win the favor of the children. Looking at Dorian, he knew he had already lost at least half the battle.

What worried him about Portia was that he entertained her. She kept him around for her own amusement. He knew that didn't bode well for him.

"I really do care about your mother," he assured her.

"She still loves my daddy, you know."

She obviously wasn't looking for reassurance.

Hayden looked away.

"Whenever you leave, she closes the bedroom door."

Hayden surveyed the young girl. He could never understand where she was taking things.

"She calls my daddy when you're gone. They talk for hours."

"About me?" Hayden ventured.

"If you're lucky."

If he didn't know any better, he would have thought this little girl pulled him into the house that night just to torture him.

But he just had to know.

"Where is your mother tonight?" Hayden asked.

"Right here."

He could smell Chanel No. 5 and he felt the hairs on his arms raise at the sound of her voice. He looked down at Portia who cast him a sweet look before crawling onto the couch next to her brother, linking arms with him.

They were so sweet looking like that.

But as he turned to face Blair, he knew she wasn't pleased.

"Why are you two still up?" Blair asked lightly, looking right through Hayden.

"Dorota said we could wait for you."

Now that Hayden wasn't the center of the room, Dorian could dutifully ignore him and speak to his mother.

"Well, I'll have to have a talk with her. It's late," Blair chastised lightly.

Dorian just hugged his mother around her legs as an apologetic answer before taking his sister's hand and walking up the stairs.

"I'll be up in a second."

Hayden knew that meant he wasn't staying. He watched as Dorian gave him a wicked smirk from the top of the staircase before disappearing.

"Goodnight, Hayden," Portia smiled sweetly before disappearing behind her brother.

Hayden couldn't find the words to even reply. Blair had turned back to face him and he suddenly wasn't sure what he was doing there.

"It's late," she said again. But this wasn't just some gentle reminder as it had been before. Now it was a cold order for him to leave.

"Yeah, it is," Hayden retorted.

He couldn't be batted away so easily. But something about her was off.

"I didn't ask you to come tonight," Blair said darkly.

"It doesn't change the facts," Hayden said sharply.

"The fact is that you shouldn't be coming to my home this late anyway," she remarked coldly.

"Where were you?" Hayden asked. He knew how immature it sounded. She was the adult and he was the inexperienced one. He just wanted so much for her to look at him again.

"You know where I was."

"Divorce proceedings don't last this long," he said.

"They're mediations."


"What do you want?" she demanded.

"You," he said, attempting to take her hand. "Just you."

But she slid away and his hand turned cold.

She didn't smell only of Chanel.

"If something happened," Hayden said, "it's okay. I understand. We'll work it out."

She turned away from him again and he couldn't help but feel as though everything he said was wrong.

But when she turned back, there was something far worse than guilt on her face.


"There is no we, Hayden," Blair sighed. "Just let it go."

"Let what go?" he asked stubbornly. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"Then why did you come back so late?" he asked. "Where were you?"

"Mediation," she said, an edge lining her voice. "I'm not lying."

She almost seemed sad.

"We just had dinner afterwards."

"We?" Hayden asked. That simple word was becoming more and more threatening. "You and your ex-husband."

"We're not divorced yet," she said softly.

"Did you sleep with him?"

He could see it now. He could see eyes that she couldn't even pretend to be guilty. Her walk. Her hair. Her eyes. He didn't know it well enough. But he knew her.

"What do you want?" she asked again.

"The truth."

"The truth?" she asked. She sounded like she was about to laugh. She just looked so…


"The truth is that you're twenty-years-old," she answered.

"That doesn't matter," Sebastian Hayden protested. "It doesn't matter when we're in love."

He watched her recoil instinctively and he felt his heart break.

"The truth is," she said softly, "that you are my best friend's intern. The truth is, the definition of your love and the definition of my love are two very different things."

He was paralyzed. He knew everything she meant by everything she didn't say. It was always that way with her.

"The truth is," she said, "I don't think you really want to know the truth."

"Blair," he said. "Did you sleep with him?"

He noticed for the first time that her skirt was on backwards.

It was in his eyes. That was always where she got herself into trouble. The entire time he was staring, barely paying any attention to what his lawyer was telling him.

Just staring.

Just staring at her.

He knew it made her uncomfortable. More than that, they both knew what was still brewing between them. That could never be tamed. She knew looking into his eyes would be a mistake. She knew that looking into his eyes would remind her of everything she was throwing away for a reason she couldn't even remember anymore.

But she knew it really wasn't. She couldn't remember it because it wasn't there. That was the same thing he had been telling her since the mediations started and she was worried that he was correct.

Now she knew.

She stole a glance.

That was the fatal mistake of the night.

"Have dinner with me."


He never tried that. She was sure he thought speaking to her without lawyers present was a bad idea. But as she tried to escape him, his hand grasped hers and escape was impossible.


"Does me calling my lawyer not send a strong enough message to you?" she asked cruelly.

"It tells me you still get some sexual thrill out of torturing me after all this time," he said. "Just like even after you pretend you hate me, you can't let go of my hand."

She flexed her fingers, wrenching away from him, but all those limo rides and blackouts flashed through her mind and she knew his grip was still as tight on her even though they weren't touching.

It had been so long ago. But she recalled her teenage flashes of him with more clarity than anything else.

"It's late," he explained. "We both haven't eaten. You probably haven't for days."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't do the coy thing," Chuck drawled. "We both know better."

"How dare—"

"You're not denying," Chuck said. "So to ease my mind, I'm taking you to dinner."

"Oh, so this is for my benefit," she asked scornfully.

"I worry about you."

"You're having me followed, aren't you?" she asked coldly.

He just smirked.

She should have known his comments weren't just meant to be cruel. In his own way, he was worried.

"It's none of your business."

"It's adorable how you think that anything about you has stopped being my business."

She didn't remember saying yes, but she knew that she didn't say no. That was always her mistake. Even after fifteen years, she still made the same mistakes she did when she was a teenager.

She still let him touch her.

She was still sitting across from him, but this time, in an elegant restaurant instead of a mediator's office.

"Why did you come out with me tonight?"

She surveyed him carefully as he picked at his plate. She wanted to look away but even his questioning bothered her. She hated when she couldn't figure him out. He always had an agenda. She could relate. But him reminding her everything about them that was the same wasn't helping her. He could do so without saying a word and she felt as though he had caught her in a trap.

"Like I had a choice," she scoffed, looking down at her own dinner. She felt his eyes on her in return, but she knew it had more to do with his so-called worry than her answer.

"Don't pretend I coerced you," he said. "We both know you never let yourself get into a situation that you don't want to be in."

"So I was just waiting with bated breath for you to ask me out?" Blair sneered.

"Just try and convince me that you don't wait with anticipation every time we get to see each other again."

"Do I wait in anticipation to go to the office where my marriage is falling apart?" Blair asked. "No. I can't say that I do."

"So you admit that you regret it."

"Regret what?"

"Filing for trial separation."

"Chuck," she said sharply.

He smirked and she cursed herself from falling into his trap. It was exactly what he wanted. She hated him for it.

"Just tell me," he said. "What exactly is your justification for twisting me into knots."

"Because it's fun."

"There's my girl."

She almost had the inclination to shove away right then.

"You run away just to make sure I'll chase you," he said. He leaned forward in the way that he knew made her follow. "I will never stop chasing you. If there's anything that's been made clear, I'd hope it was that."

"This isn't a game."

"No," he agreed, sitting back with that smug expression of his. "It can't be when we're both going to end up winning."


He slammed her against the wall of his penthouse.

Like a chemical explosion, there was no stopping it. Only for a moment did she feel reminiscent of her younger days when fornicating on various pieces of her mother's furniture was done without even a second thought.

But this wasn't her mother's house. This was the penthouse that he reclaimed after his accepted exile.

If only for a while.

She should have known it wouldn't be for long.

Being apart just wasn't in their blood. It wasn't practical for very long. Eventually, nature always took its course.

She felt her blood pounding in her ears as she pressed her cheek against the wall, digging her nails into the wallpaper, and letting him thrust her skirt up her hips.

His fingers gripped her hair passionately, in the same familiar way they always did and she felt the same moan escape her lips that she had found herself missing. It was familiar. But it was always different. It was always missed.

He felt him pin her hair to the back of her head, his lips descending across the flesh.

"I missed your neck," he said, his sigh turning into a groan. "I missed all of it."

All she could do was clench her eyes shut at the sensations that she had longed for since the day she pushed him. She had longed for it so much that her heart hurt and she couldn't bear being without it for a second more.

He stole all of her longing moans away from her. All she could do was gasp and pant.

"I've missed everything about you."

She was so preoccupied by every single little touch. She couldn't comprehend that she could miss all of this so much. She was so preoccupied that she didn't even realize her garters were around her knees again and he had once again stripped her of everything. She held her breath, feeling their bodies shudder and jerk passionately together.

They were always so unified and she couldn't help but rake her nails down the wall and moan uncontrollably.

His husky breaths were as rushed and desperate as hers. She knew how long it had been and how he was as relieved as her.

She didn't understand how it was the relief she relished after everything. She finally felt complete and she was sure what it was she had been missing.



She wasn't sure if he was answering her question or just satisfied at her cry of his name.

She was surprised at her ability to speak but with his tongue at her ear, she knew he would always have energy to murmur into it.

"He's like me, isn't he?" he said breathlessly. He accentuated every word with more vehement movements in a way that made it almost impossible for her to take.

"Isn't he?" Chuck asked, still able to convey smugness at a time like this. "He's exactly like me in every way except less. I bet you just wish you could scream out my name when you come with him."

All she could do was moan helplessly at his words.

His fingers dug in more. He grew more passionate. But he was still dissatisfied with her silence.

He spun her to face him, hoisting her up the wall, stilling his erratic movements. He stared into her eyes for a long beat.

"You know?" Blair finally asked hoarsely.

"Are you surprised?"

Instead of any verbal affirmation, she kissed him viciously. He bit her lip.

"Well, isn't he?"

"Yes," she cried out, leaning her head back.

He buried his head in her hair and she knew it was exactly what he needed.

It was what they both needed.

They clung to each other and came apart in such synchronization; she knew there was no one else.

"I don't care," he said.

"Yes, you do."

"No," Chuck said. "He isn't worth it. He isn't worth my breath. He's juvenile. He's nothing."

They were still connected and she was so physically taxed, she couldn't stop herself from looking at him any longer.

"Say it," he said. "Just say it Blair. And all of this will have been for something."

"I want you to come home."

His kisses were like sweet fire.