That's right...it's 'Homecoming'. Re-uploaded AGAIN. I'm so sorry, fanfic randomly decided to take down the whole story - apparently it took them several months to realise that I'd included the word 'bitch' in the summary and unknowingly broken the site's rules...and I'm not the only one it's happened to, so other writers, watch out! I would hate to see anyone else lose any of their fics. I was also stupid enough not to have a single back-up – so a huge, HUGE thanks to the wonderful MegamiTenchi, Beth, and svenjen, without whom this story would be gone forever. I will start re-uploading all the chapters now – and I have a new one written at the end :) Apologies it has taken so long, my publishing rights were also taken away for a few days...and after the amount of times this fic has come and gone, not to mention how long updates have taken, I'll be amazed if there are still people reading – but I hope I haven't lost all of you. Thank you so much for all your amazing reviews, and sorry again!

'And I've waited patiently; and I'll wait for a sign'.

New York

"She's coming back?"

Chuck glanced up from his scotch, still sprawled languidly on the chaise longue though there was a definite flicker of interest in those golden eyes.

Carter knocked back his own glass.

"She got into Columbia."

Chuck was unable to stop a smirk. "Of course she did." That sounded like his girl. Blair Waldorf. He hadn't seen her in several years; not since they'd used to play doctors together and fight over toys and books and friends; not since the long nights at sleepovers plotting take downs with each other.

Carter's gaze narrowed at him as though remembering the same thing. Doctors and sleepovers no longer had quite the innocence of before. Not where Chuck Bass was concerned. Not now.

"She'll be joining us in the Hamptons."

Even in Carter's drawl, there was a hint of warning underneath. She was, after all, his baby sister. Not to mention the only family he had left now.

"You're not packing her off to France?" Chuck enquired with an arched brow.

The other man just gave a little shrug. "She'll be living here come fall."

Chuck entertained that thought with some pleasure. Things had been dull lately, and they definitely wouldn't be if Blair was back in town. He'd missed her.

"Maybe I'll skip Prague this summer, then."

Canterbury Accademy

Connecticut

Damien watched the small figure streaking round the track from his spot in the shadows. The bleachers were empty and concealed him perfectly. Not that she would have seen; she was far too focused on beating her last record. He reckoned the school shrink had recommended physical activity as an outlet when she'd first got here - in any case, running had been one of her many obsessions over the past six years.

It suited him just fine.

She drew close to his spot, and he watched her dark ponytail whipping through the wind, small breasts in her tight sports bra; close enough that he could see the fine layer of moisture on her skin. Sport was the only time she let herself get like this - the only time she wore the fewest clothes and allowed herself to even break a sweat.

The timer beeeped and she came to a stop, chest rising and falling as she stretched her little legs.

He sank back onto the plastic bench and pulled out his phone as she headed for the shower. And he watched, through the camera he'd set up there, as she shook her hair free of her ponytail and slipped out of her clothes, folding them neatly before stepping under the hot gush of water. The anti-fog lense had been expensive and difficult to install, but well worth the price as he studied every inch of her pale skin and his pants got tighter and tighter.

He came quickly, tissues at the ready, as he watched her scrub in between her legs, hair sliding darker over her back that she arched in the stream.

By the time she'd towelled dry, he'd put his phone away and was heading towards the changing rooms.

The sun had sunk low in the sky, the air chillier now that she was out of the hot steam, and the shadows longer. She repressed a shiver and pulled her sports bag a little closer, almost unconcious as she picked up the pace.

(Blair Waldorf had been scared of the dark now for nearly seven years. A fact that no one - not even and especially her assigned therapist - knew).

So she was unable to contain her cry of fear as a shadow suddenly loomed in front of her. A cry that she swiftly turned into a noise of digust when she realised who it was.

"Damien," she snapped. (Her heart was still thumping). "What the hell are you doing?"

Her hair was still damp, he noted. And he could smell her shampoo, that prim little body now tucked into her school uniform.

"One of these days," he sighed, "You might actually look pleased to see me."

"Not until you learn to stop sneaking up on people," she retorted. Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you on the running track? Because I know it's not for any physical exertion."

He held out a folder. "You missed Spanish today."

She looked at the folder with deep suspicion. "You came all the way here to give me my homework?"

He smiled. "Isn't that what friends do?"

"We're not friends," she reminded him, "Just because you happen to run in the same circles I do." But she took the folder, and he was already falling into her step.

"So why weren't you in Spanish?"

"Why is that any of your business?"

But he knew by now that this was simply her way. "Let me guess. Big brother?"

There was only one reason Blair would skip a class. Because Carter didn't seem to see her schedule as a real one; if he wanted to talk to her, he would. Damien knew this too by now. He'd met Carter only a couple of times, and had taken an intense dislike of him. He was arrogant and effortlessly cool - and he made no attempt to conceal his contempt of Damien. He barely spared him a glance, other than that knowing look once that had said, quite nastily, she's out of your league.

The only thing Damien had to thank him for was that he'd sent Blair here after their parents had died.

"Does he still not get the concept of classes?" Damien asked, irritated. Blair gave him a cold look. No one criticized her big brother. Damien sighed and changed tacks. "So what did he want?"

"Details for the summer," she retorted, and he felt his heart blacken further.

The summer.

She was going back to New York - back to them.

And school would be over, and he'd no longer have classes or lunch breaks with her. No more watching her in the shower, no more guilty viewings of her sleeping. He'd manipulated his way closer and closer over the years, turning friends against her if necessary just to get what he wanted. He'd changed class seating plans and assignment partners - and still nothing. He was no closer to getting her.

And time was running out.

Prom was all he had left. He'd already paid off her date to dump her - just in time for his own self to rescue her - and he'd stocked up on so much alcohol he could put a bar to shame. He wasn't taking any chances.

"I'm leaving next week," she informed him as they drew closer to the dormitories.

And Damien's blood ran cold. "But you'll miss prom." It blurted out before he could stop it, furious.

Blair gave him a funny look. "What do you care? You said you weren't going."

He ground his teeth. "I know. I'm not." His hands were clenched in silent balls of rage. No. Not all his careful planning - he couldn't have this taken away from him. Not now. "I just thought you wanted to."

He received an eye roll in reposnse. "I'd rather be sunning myself on a beach. There's something so plebian about proms, anyway."

"You weren't saying that," he snarled, "When you heard you'd been nominated for prom queen." He could barely manage to keep his tone civil any more.

He'd gone too far, though - she gave him another look and then her face closed. "Carter wants me home. Thanks for the homework." And with that, she stalked off.

He stared after her, seething with hatred and bitter, burning anger. He was never going to get her now.

And his mood only turned for the worse when he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see who it was. Great. Dan fucking Humphrey. Clearly scurrying back from another late night library trip.

"Why are you standing out here?" Humphrey came to a stop as he saw him.

Did Damien look like he wanted a conversation? His lip curled with loathing. "Just planning your untimely demise," he sneered.

Dan's frown was instant. "All right. I was just asking."

"And I'm just telling you."

The two boys regarded each other with equal dislike, though Humphrey's had none of the fury roiling underneath it. Their hatred for each other had only intensified over the years with each class room rivalry, each fight for the number one spot. Dan didn't have the same thirst for blood and need to anihilate that Damien did - but he was still determined to prove himself. And Damien couldn't believe some upstart from Brooklyn was trying to beat him.

The real reason he hated Dan, though, was because he'd been Blair's partner for the science fair in ninth grade. The two of them had ended up squabbling so much that their project had eventually failed - and Blair had since claimed to dislike him just as much as Damien did.

But they had a banter underneath it all. Banter that Damien never got with her. Even while she was screwing her nose up at Humphrey, there was grudging fondness for him too. Damien could see it. And it drove him insane. Worse still was that he was pretty sure Dan liked Blair too.

If it weren't for their backgrounds (it didn't matter that Humphrey's father managed a highly successul band - he was still new money) - Damien could swear they'd actually be friends.

And he had an impeccable background and enough money to buy the school several times over - and he was still just a person who happened to move in the same circles as her.

Dan backed away a little at the expression on Damien's face. "What's wrong with you, man?"

Damien moved closer, anger making him reckless. He could punch that stupid fucking face. "For starters," he snarled, "You're so close that I can smell your nasty sweater. It's making me feel more than a little nauseous."

"Hey-"

"Just take your creepy little books and slink home so I don't have to look at you any more."

Dan suddenly straightened and glowered back. "I'm a creep?" He glared at Damien. "I saw you heading for the girls' changing room."

The other boy's face turned ugly. "Stalking me, Humphrey?"

"Like you stalk Blair?"

Damien lost it at that. He flung himself at Humphrey with a howl of rage. "You son of a-"

But Daniel pushed him back - and, though unused to physical violence, his height gave him an advantage. He blinked in slight surprise as his fist collided with Damien and the other boy stumbled backwards - and then winced as he felt the impact in his own hand.

Damien's wrath only increased when he realised his nose was streaming. But like any good coward, he knew when to retreat.

"I'm going to kill you for this," he hissed. He was shaking with rage as he stormed away.

"Like to see you try," Dan muttered. He realised the comeback would have sounded a lot better had Damien been there to hear it. Or not; he swore the guy was verging on psychotic sometimes.

New York

Chuck sent the text as he waited in the elevator.

So the bitch is home, huh? Can't wait to have you back where you belong, Waldorf. C.

He paused in the foyer of his penthouse as he entered. His mother was home. Not just home, but home alone. No hat or tie that belonged to an unknown stockbroker littering the floor. She was waiting. Waiting for him in the dining room, roast pheasant and crystal glasses on the table.

"Charles," she purred as he entered.

Evelyn Bass doing anything remotely domestic was enough to send warning signals in all directions. Was Bart home? Had he given her another ultimatum after her latest affair?

Of course Bart wasn't home.

"Mother." His tone was careful as he regarded her back.

"Take a seat." She smiled at him. "Scotch?"

They'd never bothered with stupid things like school nights or drinking ages. In fact, it was unlikely that Evelyn knew either the age of her son or what day of the week it was. (Did her son even go to school? Yes. They were still paying the fees).

He took it neat, as she did her vodka.

"So. I hear the Waldorf girl is coming back." Of course she didn't hang about. She was a Bass. He didn't bother asking how she knew, either - her spies were everywhere. "Little Blair's going to be in the Hamptons with us, correct?"

And by 'us', she meant him. She might linger a few days, but Basses didn't do family holidays. Her words were already creating the faintest sense of foreboding in him.

He was well aware his mother had long had designs on the Waldorf's good name. There was a reason, after all, that she'd been best friends with Eleanor for so long. Their children belonged together. It seemed he'd miscalculated just how long the tragedy would keep his mother's claws out of one of his oldest friends.

He sighed.

"She'll be attending university in New York, Charles. She'll need somewhere to stay."

"She has the Waldorf penthouse," he pointed out drily.

"Two of your best friends will be at Columbia with her." She was talking about Nate and Serena. "It only makes sense for the four of you to live together." She smiled, a smile that was entirely devoid of warmth. "It'll be just like it was when you were children. Just like it was always supposed to be."

His eyebrow lifted. "It's been six years."

There was a hardness under Evelyn's perfect face. "Which is why the Hamptons is the perfect time to reconnect. This is your one chance, Charles." She lifted a hand to her son's hair, and he tried not to flinch. "Make her yours." She gathered herself together with another smile. "Enjoy your dinner, darling." And with that, she was gone.

Chuck's phone beeped with a text.

Better watch out, Bass. B.

It would have made him smirk just five minutes earlier.

He pushed the pheasant away and downed another glass of scotch instead. His eyes burned a hollow gaze into the glass, sharp and cold as the mother he hated even more than his father. Which was saying something.