A/N: I think by now it's obvious that this story is being told in a series of flashbacks and current day. I hope that it's clear when I switch between scenes. Some of the flashbacks are directly from the show and others are completely created in my overactive mind. Thank you all for reading; the response to this story so far has been overwhelming.

Chapter 6

"I'm sorry, Blair, but you lost the baby," Doctor Ellison informed her as gently as she could. She felt like her heart shattered into a million tiny fragments and pierced her chest from the inside out. Her bruised ribs shot a sharp ache through her battered torso as sobs wracked her body. She felt Serena reach for her hand in a gesture meant for comfort, but there was nothing she could do to ease the raw pain that both her emotional turmoil and her physical exhaustion elicited.

She remembered Chuck covering her body with his own, desperately willing to sacrifice his life for hers. Her mind had blocked out much of the horrific crash, but she recalled blood - a lot of blood. She drew a breath in an attempt to gain some composure and asked, "Where's Chuck?" Her heart sank as she watched Serena look to Doctor Ellison questioningly and the doctor nodded in affirmation. The news clearly wasn't good, and she could feel panic threatening her already fragile mental state. She looked to the doctor and back to Serena, her lower lip quivering slightly. "Wh-, wh-," she stuttered, unable to verbalize her question.

Serena squeezed her hand and ran her fingers soothingly over the back of her knuckles. She spoke clearly, terrified of Blair's reaction to the news, "B, he lost a lot of blood, and he never woke up, so it's not looking good."

Her hand covered her mouth, and the anguish that she felt throughout her entire body felt like a crushing weight pressing harshly against her chest. She gasped, trying to find her breath, but there was nothing left in her lungs. Serena's words had sucked all of the life from her body, and she felt as though she was slowly suffocating, drowning in her own sorrow. There was just enough air to keep her alive, to keep her heart beating, but she felt dead inside without him. Nothing mattered if she lost him.

Her body betrayed her, and she felt her stomach lurch violently. Serena quickly placed a pan on her lap, and she dispelled all of the contents of her stomach until she heaved dryly, although nothing was left. Her muscles were weak and every inch of her throbbed in agony. She fell back into the pillow, a heart-wrenching sob escaping her mouth. She couldn't live without him. She wouldn't. Her over-tired mind worked anxiously to find a solution - she had to save his life.

With all of the strength she could muster, she told Serena, "I need to go to the chapel."

XOXO

"Blair," Doctor Ellison inquired softly, "Would you like to request a birth certificate for your daughter?"

"Um, I think so," Blair nodded dumbly, still overwhelmed and mentally unprepared to process all of the doctor's questions. After her desperate prayers in the chapel, she'd briefly visited Chuck, who continued to drift in and out of consciousness. She told him - hoping that on some level he was aware enough to understand her - that even though they couldn't be together, she would always love him. Her emotions were locked in a constant battle - relief at Chuck's recovery, grief for the loss of her baby, and anxiety for all of the unknowns in between. Everything was happening so quickly, and she really didn't have time to process anything. She couldn't mourn; she couldn't think. The questions were never-ending, and she felt scared, unprepared, and alone.

"Ok, Blair," the doctor spoke gently, "I just need a little information from you. Would you like to have Mr. Bass's name added to the birth certificate?"

Blair's mouth fell open and tears threatened to spill over her already painfully raw eyes. The universe was so cruel to rub salt in a stinging wound. Mere hours earlier Chuck had committed to acting as her baby's father. It made sense in a way that the doctor would mistake him as the biological father, given the circumstances of the wreck and her distress over his condition. She shook her head, and quietly admitted, "It's not Chuck," she had to choke back another sob, "The father of my baby is Louis Grimaldi."

The doctor flipped through her chart and glanced back at Blair skeptically. Confusion dotted her furrowed brow as she asked, "Did you have a paternity test completed at this hospital?"

Blair flushed, embarrassed by the fact that she hadn't been one-hundred percent positive about the father of her child and aggravated by the doctor's incessant line of questioning. "Yes, the results listed Louis as the father, which made sense given the fact that I only slept with Chuck once." She was growing increasingly impatient, and she couldn't hold back the defensive snarkiness any longer, "I can elaborate further if you'd like? Perhaps you'd like me to detail the specific position we used?"

Doctor Ellison remained unfazed by Blair's temper, and she simply explained, "According to your chart, Charles Bass is the father of your baby, Blair. He's a 99% match."

"I -" Blair began and stopped. Her head was spinning, and she felt nauseous. "That can't be right," she finally whispered weakly. "I got the results months ago."

"Okay," the doctor soothed, unsure if Blair was just too overwhelmed for the conversation or if she had actually received inaccurate results. "Let's pause this discussion for the time being and let me figure out what happened."

As soon as she was alone, Blair curled into a ball, clutching her pillow to her sore abdomen and wept. Her tears were merciless, and her cries hurt to her core. Every inch of her body shook violently with each heartbreaking sob. She gasped for air, but there wasn't enough oxygen in the room to fill her lungs. With unsteady legs, she stood from the bed and attempted to make her way toward the bathroom. One foot, then two. On the third step, her leg gave out on her, and she crumbled to a pathetic heap on the floor. Her last coherent thought before she blacked out was that she was in hell, paying penance for her infidelity to her fiance.

XOXO

Blair greeted Margaret with a gentle kiss to the cheek, "This is so kind of you, Margaret, really. You didn't need to bring us dinner all the way out here."

"Oh, it was nothing, Mrs. Bass," she smiled kindly, "If anything, it was an excuse for me to see this little one." She ruffled Henry's hair affectionately. "How's kindergarten, Henry?"

"It's awesome," he answered absently, intent on peeking into the large bags that Margaret had left on the kitchen counter, "Did you bring us dessert, too, Miss Margaret?"

"Of course, I did," the older woman explained, "Chocolate silk pie."

Henry beamed at her before returning his attention to the math quest game on his iPad.

As Margaret turned to leave, Blair grabbed her arm and pulled her out of earshot of Henry. With a hushed whisper, she asked, "Have you heard from Mr. Bass today? I haven't been able to get a hold of him all day. I know he's probably busy in meetings, but -"

Her years of experience in maintaining the confidentiality of Chuck's personal business kept her from spilling everything when she saw the worried expression on Blair's face. If one looked closely enough, the carefully concealed dark circles under her eyes were becoming more and more visible. Margaret shook her head, "I spoke with him briefly around lunchtime, and he said that he was so close to closing the deal and that he was stuck in back to back meetings all day."

Blair felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. Chuck always took her calls, no matter how important a meeting he was attending. All she'd received from him at all was a quick text that simply read Busy, call you later. There was no sweet message of love or affection that she had come to expect. No I miss you or Can't wait to see you; no comment about how lonely hotel beds were without her. The distance she had felt between them a week earlier was growing, and she was starting to wonder if he felt it, too.

XOXO

When Chuck finally arrived back in New York several hours later, he tapped out another text to Blair: Sorry I didn't get a chance to return your calls today. Back to back meetings ran long. Negotiations are harder than I thought. Call you tomorrow. Before hitting 'send', he added Love you. He knew that his lack of communication was probably enough to cause Blair a discernible amount of anxiety. She would do her best to hide it from Henry, but when her head hit the pillow, her mind would torment her with all of the whys and what-ifs that his ominous silence inspired.

After pouring a glass of scotch from the decanter on the bar, he called his most trusted private investigator – the one he hired shortly after his father's real death. Martin Kennedy was one of the most loyal, properly vetted, and stealthy individuals he'd ever met. After Andrew Tyler's shocking betrayal, Chuck was understandably skeptical of hiring someone new. He needed someone who knew how to keep his mouth shut, but, even more than that, he needed someone who couldn't be bought or blackmailed into turning on him. It had taken months and an inordinate amount of money, but Chuck finally found a man he could trust to keep his secrets and protect his family. Kennedy was the most thorough PI he'd ever met, and he made the Bass family his first priority. He called them his 'preferred clients'. Whenever Chuck called, Kennedy made himself readily available no matter the date or time.

Chuck checked the clock on the nightstand as he listened to the phone ring several times on the other end. It was just after midnight – late, but not nearly late enough for Kennedy not to answer his call. He felt himself growing impatient with each subsequent ring. Right as he was about to hang up, he heard, "Hello? Mr. Bass, is that you?"

"Yes, I need to know every move my wife makes. She has a meeting set up for some time this weekend, and I need to know when and where. I don't think I need to tell you that this is a highly confidential assignment."

"Yes, of course," the muffled voice from the other end of the line returned, "Is that all, sir?"

"I also need everything you can find on the name Elijah Hastings," Chuck ordered, his tone purposefully authoritative and intimidating, "Everything, no matter how inconsequential it may seem."

After he got off the phone, he looked around the suite that held so many memories - some he wished he could forget, others he wished that he had cherished more in the moment. The prominence of one particular memory had haunted him for years; it had tormented him, and sometimes the masochist in him dredged it up just to feel the pain that he deserved.

She was getting married to another man - and not solely because of a choice she had made, but because of the choice that he made to let her go, to let her find the true, uncomplicated happiness that she couldn't have with him. He had expected the thought to be unbearable, that he would break down internally without any forewarning. As the wedding date approached, he was surprised that there was no pain, no bitterness or heartache. In fact, he felt numb, as if nothing could touch him. His heart didn't long for her; his arms didn't ache to hold her. He didn't feel the selfish desire to stop her from deserting him once and for all. There were no grand plans in the works to manipulate her into becoming a constant figure in his life again. His friends had shown varying degrees of concern over his inability to feel pain, but he surmised that it was the nature with which he had let Blair go. Their last conversation had held a finality that none of their previous break-ups had. It was a bittersweet goodbye, but he had accepted it fully. All he could do was move forward and hold onto all of their best memories in the depths of his mind, to draw on when he needed to remind himself that he had once felt unadulterated happiness, that no matter how brief, it had been real. He couldn't allow himself to consider any other possibility than the fact that she would no longer be a part of his future, but he could still own part of her past.

He sat at the bar, nursing a scotch, considering his predicament. It had to be a learned behavior to protect him from the pain and sorrow that only she could inflict. She was the last person he expected to walk into the suite, looking devastatingly beautiful in a floral summer dress that accentuated her full chest and small waist. Her hair was understated - natural and wavy. She looked different than he was used to seeing her, and he immediately felt his guard go up; his carefully constructed walls built around himself were armed for whatever ammunition she may use to try and tear down his defenses. A small part of him wanted to walk to her, embrace her and offer her a familiar arm. She looked worried and uncharacteristically nervous. He maintained a stiff posture and indifferent countenance. He didn't greet her. He simply stared, willing her to be the first to speak. The silence was deafening and seemed to last longer than mere seconds before she addressed him.

She kept her distance, seemingly unsure of herself, lacking the confidence with which she typically approached him. "I need to talk to you," she confessed.

"I thought we said everything we needed to say the last time we saw each other," he spoke harshly, a coldness radiating from his words. There was no warmth in his voice; his tone wasn't soft or filled with comfort and familiarity.

Her face fell; it hurt. HIs indifference caused her heart to burn painfully in her chest. No matter how far he pushed her away from him, she would never be able to fully accept this formal and detached quality to their relationship. She pleaded with him softly, desperately imploring him to open himself up to her, "Chuck -"

He couldn't keep up his facade much longer. The pain that he had clearly subjected her to by treating her as nothing more than an old acquaintance was visibly etched onto her face, and he had to look away before he broke. He couldn't afford to break in front of her. With conscious effort, he was able to keep the stone wall in place. With a sardonic smirk, he asked, "Is this another misguided attempt by Dan to get me to feel something?"

"I'm pregnant." No other words had ever affected him in the way those two did. He immediately looked back to her, the dry smirk falling from his face. His mind couldn't process what she was trying to tell him. His heart raced unsteadily in his chest, feeling as if it may explode at any given moment, but his mind sped even quicker. He couldn't complete one thought before another took over. She added the line that would haunt his mind repeatedly over the next several years, "It's Louis's."

God, he'd never felt such raw agony. Months of not feeling a single emotion or a single ounce of pain compounded on him in that moment, and he felt like she'd dropped a two-ton boulder on his chest. He could barely breathe or think. His mind screamed that he needed her to leave, but his body refused to react.

She opened her mouth to speak as she tried to step forward, but he raised his hand to stop her. She didn't owe him anything, but it felt as though he'd just experienced the worst kind of betrayal. She tried futilely to offer an explanation, "I didn't want you to find out from someone else and wonder if the baby was yours."

"That's very considerate," he snarked. All he had left in him was humorless sarcasm. The feelings and thoughts swirling in his head wouldn't work together to form coherent words for what he really wanted to say.

"Yes, well," she choked softly. Her words sounded scornful, but her tone betrayed her internal anguish. "If I know anything about Chuck Bass, it's that fatherhood isn't part of the lifestyle."

It was a brutal comment, only serving to add insult to injury. His voice dripped with derision when he responded too quickly, "You must've been very relieved when you realized you weren't carrying my offspring." She flinched subtly as his words pierced her like shards of glass. 'Relief' was hardly the right word to describe her reaction when she opened the envelope containing the paternity results. "That certainly would've derailed your fairytale," he scoffed.

She knew him well enough to see through his icy exterior. He was hurting as much as she was. She put her metaphorical daggers away and admitted, "This fairytale is complicated."

Silence filled the room once again, and they both remember their conversation a few months prior when Chuck set her free, telling her that she deserves her fairytale with her prince. They both just stared quietly as emotions had grown too heavy for words.

The distinct clicking of claws against the hardwood floor conflicted with the hushed tension surrounding them. "Blair," her name sounded foreign on his tongue, "Meet my dog, Monkey."

"Oh," she leaned down to pet him, and looked back at Chuck in shock, "I saw Gossip Girl; I thought you got rid of him."

"I just sent him to get fixed," he raised his eyes from the dog to bore into her, "I thought it was the responsible thing to do."

She felt the frost that had begun to thaw around them start to form into jagged icicles again. It was too much. She shook her head, willing the tears away, "I should go."

"Yes."

"Louis's waiting for me."

"Of course," he was short with her; his stiffness acted as clear evidence of the hurt she'd caused him.

Her face softened, and she admitted, "There was a part of me that really wanted it to be yours." She didn't know if it was the right thing to say or not. What did "right" even mean in this situation? But she needed him to know. She had to give him that much. She risked a lot with that confession, but she hoped that he gained more from it than she lost.

After she left, he remained unmoving for some time. He stared after her, looking toward the empty doorway. When he finally made his way to the bed, still fully closed, his chest constricted so tightly that he thought he might go into cardiac arrest. Death didn't sound so unpleasant, he thought morbidly, as he rubbed the ache spreading across his breastbone. A solitary tear created a lonely streak down his cheek, and he didn't bother wiping it away.

Monkey seemed to understand his pain, almost commiserating in the sorrow that his owner felt. It was in that moment that Chuck understood that heartache transcends language and reason.

As he recalled the pure agonizing hell that he felt in that moment so long ago, he couldn't help but wonder why she'd come to him at all if she lied about the paternity results. His anxiety was too much to handle. There wasn't enough room in his brain to deal with all of the thoughts and questions. In the matter of days, he'd uncovered two major lies that Blair had told him. Were each of the deceptions connected in some way, or had Blair just grown too accustomed to betraying him?

He picked up the tumbler setting on the bar in front of him untouched. With rage coursing through his veins, he hurled it at the wall and cursed loudly enough that he was sure the front desk would receive complaints.

He scrolled through his contact list until he found a number he hadn't used in recent years - since before reuniting with Blair in Monte Carlo. If he was going to get any rest or find any sense of peace, he needed something a lot stronger than alcohol.