Eleven Months

by chinochan-inulover

"Can you understand what I'm saying? You wouldn't have been, because I'd have loved this child more than I ever loved, and I hadn't thought that was possible after you… I'd love it like no one ever loved any other person. Like no one ever loved me" Blair and Chuck meet after eleven long months apart. Chuck learns an apalling secret. two-shot/chair, post 4x22(twisted)

Michelle looked out bellow to the busy streets of Wall Street. The winter today was particularly harsh in the lower part of Manhattan Island in the financial district where the Bass Industries was situated, in a big, foreboding dark glass and onyx marble consistent sky-scraper with Bronze engraved plaques on the left side of the great smoked glass doors and a total of thirty three floors. It was quite common to spot a limo on the street along with the many, many yellow cabs and town cars.

Even from the thirtieth-third floor, however, she could see something almost foreboding in the parking of the newly arrived, stretch silver limo just in front of the building.

She was fairly certain that from the many people that worked at the Head Office just a select number of people rode in a stretch limo. Most of the Heads of the Big Industries, also most of the heads of departments of said smaller companies inside Bass Industries and of course her own boss (whom she was sure, she had never seen transporting any other way), and everyone's, really, seeing he was not only CEO but also the major Share holder of the company, meaning – practically the owner.

But of one thing she was most absolutely certain, none of this men and women were driven in a silver limo each morning to the multinational. As soon as she realized just exactly whose limo she was seeing parking in front of the great building she gulped, not really sure if her will had suddenly turned sour because she wanted to flee or stay and watch the chaos that could originate some messy debris for her to pick up later.

XOXO

Besides the gelid air that drew puffs of steam from the hurried and busy mostly business men and women, it was snowing delicately upon the streets and the transients. As she looked upon her own ostentatious coverage from the cold from the inside of the slow moving limo, her thoughts drifted for Park or 5th, which she had been craving for for as long as she had been away from the Upper East Side.

Just now, as the limo strolled towards Midtown to get to Wall Street, a warm fuzzy feeling had filled her stomach at the expensive Burberry's and Marc Jacobs, Marni's open umbrellas that spread like mushrooms on the glamorous streets, the ice and snow carved in delicate foot prints made by the crème de la crème of Manhattan's elite walking hurriedly from limo to sidewalk, from luxurious store to luxurious store as the buzz of Christmas came closer.

After all, even the most obnoxious, biased, greed, pretentious, filthy rich inhabitant of the UES soared in the heights with the coming of Christmas as so many of the commoners outside of the island did.

She had never been an exception. Especially not on Christmas, her voice echoed knowingly inside her own mind – She was still a sucker for Holidays. Especially seeing the Christmas decorations on the streets and the snow slowly taking a white divine place upon great Pine trees and mistletoe that was currently spread around the city just made her want to get out of the car and walk through New York, absorbing the demeanor of happiness and warmth that, despite the cold, the season ignited in her an in many of others.

And especially, she acquiesced, not after eleven months away from the most important people in the whole wide world. Sighing contently she slipped her society face on place, fairly certain no one would recognize her just yet. Pulling her Louis Vuitton leather black gloves and clasping them just under her elbow, above the silk of the dark blue Dior chemise she grabbed her Kelly Hermeés and smothed the wrinkles out of her pearl high waisted Chanel lose slacks that flowed around the four inch Louboutin glossy dark pumps.

As soon as she was getting ready to get out the door had opened ad a men dressed impeccably the part of chauffer stood erect next to it as threw a hand to the Silver chinchilla fur coat that would, along with the Versace sunglasses mask her identity from the prying eyes. Carefully stepping out of the vehicle she disgruntled barely acknowledged the presence of a dark skinned bulky man, all dressed in black, with sunglasses and slipping comfortably in her shadow.

The Wind blew and whizzed right at her as soon as she started to make way to her destination, and for a second she feared for her beautifully crafted up do, but ignored it in favor of raising the pellet against her Bvlagri pearls clad neck with a golden B on it.

Oh, the Queen was back.

XOXO

Michelle had decided to stay and see for herself the outcome of the situation.

She knew as much as the next commoner, they were the power couple, made headlines every week, not only in the floozy no worth magazines but in the big media as well, like The New York Times, The New Yorker, The Financial Times, Vogue.And half the time for the very bad, bad scandalous news and trouble they found themselves often. Curiously enough the only paper where the scandalous did never, ever end up was the Spectator, Well and every other decent entertainment device other than the ones which had Bass capital injected.They had been like this for six going on seven years already according to the Tabloids, but she had, as soon as she had began working in Manhattan, learned to use a little device to help in knowing people by the pretty little name of Gossip Girl. And so, she was pretty certain that their story had existed from four years prior to those six, which would conclude that their relationship had been going on for ten years.

It was, for her, actually much like a soap opera she could watch from her working seat as it unfolded. Smiling knowingly she folded her hands in her lap and reclined in her comfortable expensive chair, watching the closed oak doors of Mr. Charles Bass.

Well, Chuck Bass, actually.

Her intercomunicator rasped and the low husky voice of her employer resonated.

"Michelle, cancel my tomorrow late afternoon appointment, Lottie requests my presence at her Piano recital. Also, please refrain from passing through calls or letting anyone try to come here."

"Sir, are you sure about that?" her voice mumbled and tiny, because she was pretty sure she'd be disobeying him in no time and by no fault of her own nonetheless. Gulping she heard his sharp,

"What?"

She decided against telling him and instead letting fate work its way out, as she knew perfectly well any second now her boss's opinion on this particular matter would change exponentially. But she knew didn't like to be crossed or defied in any situation in life by those he considered well under him, like herself. And, for that, she answered him quick and quiet that she would do as he had ordained right away. She could understand he felt that way, when he was giving her orders and not even acknowledge her anxious self, not even sparing her a glance or a question as he twirled the monogrammed ring on his pinkie fingers, a habit he had picked from well before she had even dreamt about someone like Chuck Bass.

She wouldn't lie, she had gone from Buffalo directly to Princeton and then New York. Bass Industries, was a dream job for her, even if just as Head-Secretary, seeing she had gotten there in four years of hard honest working and it was actually something that related to her Business major. She wouldn't deny that she had, at the beginning, found him fascinating. He was polite and debonair, wore haute couture with as much pride on it as any other of those sophisticated woman she could see in the Company parties, and he looked pretty good on it too. Way of an understatement – He was the perfect embodiment of mature, self accomplished, dark and lean and mysterious guy.

But soon as his life became unavoidably exposed to her she had learnt to put that aside and admire his genius for business, but he had revealed to be too much of a ruthless and wicked manipulating man, there were very few persons able to appreciate it.

There was only one to enjoy it, indulge in it, share it and even crave it. And that would be her.

The elevator dinged and she sauntered out not sparing a look to the body guard as her hand reached for her shades taking them and she mumbled a quiet "Stay". And he did as he was told.

Because if there ever had been a powerful woman who could not only match, rival and even outwin Chuck Bass, it was this woman right here.

Blair Waldorf.

Well, Waldorf-Bass, actually.

She tried, as she always did, to hide in herself looking down at Mr. Bass schedule in order to rearrange the events and appointments he had just cancelled for Lottie's piano soirée. It was not so difficult to understand to anyone who dare cross ways with lady Bass that she had this aura of power and wickedness, sometimes even malevolence around her that almost shimmered. And if Mr. Bass had just the same, even if with more sarcastic edges and was scary as he was sometimes, it was even scarier in someone as petite as this brunette woman.

She almost passed her ornate and rich, heavy wood desk. When, however, Michelle opened her mouth hesitantly to try and make her refrain from the epic act of opening both the oak doors fantastically, Mrs. Waldorf-Bass had remembered she existed and, with a cruel smarmy twist of her lips upwards, quickly extending to a creepy cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, while she glanced down at the employee.

"Hello Girl" And this was what she hated more about Blair Bass. She knew she did it on purpose, but she scared the shit out of her, and not mentioning her name for years, knowing how much she intimidated Michelle, was plain mean. As was what came next, "I have to say three years aged Lanvin doesn't suit you. You should try Macy's next time. They do have the store in Buffalo, don't they?"

Michelle, brows furrowed and hands clenched and looked down at the light blue, chocking against her auburn lose hair and that had cost two entire wages, opened her mouth almost exploding and snapping at the powerful woman, who always dressed impeccably, she just knew, Michelle guessed, what to put with what, because Blair Waldorf-Bass didn't ever let people think that she was anything short of superior and perfectly so. Just as she was doing now as she expressed her disdain for Macy's and her husband's employee.

With a chirp sarcastic smile she held Versace black tortoise shell shades in the hand that helped her lean of the desk and attacked again.

"Don't get sad now, Girl and don't take it personal either; I'm sure they have exquisite Christmas presents." And she would know what she was talking about, the redheaded thought. After all, she too was CEO, of Waldorf Designs, nonetheless. Then as if she hadn't just insulted her outright she grabbed the leather agenda Michelle was working on before with her Vuitton clad hand and smiled sickening sweet as she got on track once again to Mr. Bass's office.

"No, Wait!" klutzily, Michelle tried to reach for the journal but the slender fingers of the smaller, older woman had already took the leather covered book from within her reach. As she observed, defeated – as always – by the not so much older brunette, the gloved hand fingered the pages on the schedule deftly, like many wouldn't be able to do with hands thickly clad in leather, like hers were.

Mrs. Waldorf-Bass's brows creased significantly as her hands stopped turning the pages, and Michelle could tell just by the amount of pages left to turn that she had stopped on today and tomorrow.

"I think I'll hold on to it, girl." Her tone was sharp as dark coffee brown eyes shot her one last glance, and for a second the secretary wondered where all the animosity came from. Maybe, just maybe Blair Waldorf- Bass was just as insecure as any other girl in the world about her man. Maybe she just didn't like any other girl working, so close to her husband. And just maybe there was a possibility that that would all be true, however taken to measure, no other normal couple would take; could take.

She sometimes feared for their enemies, there was nothing like this particular couple when they were allies.

And, she supposed, the Power Couple wouldn't take long to be back.

Sighing with the unsurprising defeat she cleared her throat and spoke to the woman in front of her with a respectful, quiet timber.

"Mr. Bass specifically asked not to be disturbed, at least let me announce y-"

"That's the difference between you and me, Girl. I don't really follow orders, now do I? Learn your place" the frigid tone of her voice cut her immediately, not letting another of those softly toned words compare her to just any other person inside this building. "And Remember my last name, will you…" a sickeningly sweet false smile stretched her deep red lips and the next thing she knew, Blair Waldorf-Bass was leaning down to look her in the eye and whisper, "…Michelle?"

Stunned into silence by the mere knowledge that this woman had always known her name, and merely chose to never use it, replacing it with a demeaning "girl", she blinked and suddenly she watched her fur clothed back walk towards the great oak doors with a stiff poise and before she reached for the handle, she halted a moment to take a deep breath and divest her right hand from the pricey accessory.

Pushing the door forward, both she and the bodyguard left at the elevator's exit by the mere command of that woman's voice, were left in mystery and anxiousness, as the world could fall at Chuck and Blair's hands.

XOXO

The door clicked and Chuck sighed inwardly, trying for the hell of it remember how in the world he had managed to hire such insubordinate help.

Hadn't he told her that he wanted no one coming in here? It didn't matter if it was a director or an accountant with flash urgent news or a new deal coming in. He proudly assumed that he had reached a stage when he could put brakes on his hectic life when he wanted. This weren't so many times and so he had promised his goddaughter that he would attend to her Piano recital along with Serena and Nate, the parents, and even though the seat beside him would most probably be occupied by some other proud parent or educator he would still feel it empty, just like he felt his chest: constricted, heavy and empty.

This was why he needed to be left alone for the major part of today so that he could advance on some work, get things done, meetings and presentations info, statistics, intel, intel, intel…

So why, had Miss Lorne let anyone, whoever that may be enter, totally escaped his grasp.

Especially since, she was as far from being fired as a blink of his lashes should he so want it.

And when his caramel amber colored eyes left the lap top in his desk and chose to wander towards the temporary target of his irritation, he understood why and how it could never be Michelle's fault.

Although he had a strangling urge to breathe her name as soon as her features came into view and he felt his insides pull together painful only to melt later and leave him in a quivering mass, he stiffly kept sat and swallowed her name thickly punishingly down his throat.

He could tell by the way her eyes flickered to the side to return immediately to his and the way her left hand grasp a pair of shades and a discarded glove in a taut, unyielding grasp that she was as nervous as him. And immediately he commenced acknowledging things in her, reading her, as he hadn't done in over eleven months and eight painful, despairing days.

She was wearing both engagement Harry Winston ring and the wedding band. She was wearing the silvery fur coat he had lovingly gifted her on their three years anniversary, but not the Erikson Beamon necklace (at the similarity of the other pieces which were heavy signatures of their history) that somehow had marked the beginning of something as much as that amazing fiery golden slip or that hideous green dress she had worn that night at Victrola.

He knew immediately that she had been in Lyon lately because that pearl Bvlagri choker, he was sure had been stashed in her father's house when he had accidently (ok, so maybe, more like drunkenly) dropped that he still remembered that she had told him once it had been Marcus Beaton who had given her that.

She still hadn't spoken. Instead, he realized, she was composing herself, most probably giving herself some pep talk as she slowly neared him, deftly unbuttoning her left glove. Reaching the desk she left the dark leather gloves and eye accessories and threw her Kelly on the plush white couch next to it, following with the furs. Her eyes had finally met his fully, that dark coffee tone that hadn't changed at all perused his darkened amber toned eyes, as he regarded her cautiously and with barely subdued ire.

He tried to repress a moan at the sight of her slim taut body that he hadn't touched in months, and had craved for, even sometimes against his wishes, every single second of every day of said months. He barely managed. Until she uttered, with that missed voice, softly and deadly,

"Dearest, haven't you missed me?"

XOXO

The signs were clear. The way she evaded his eyes. The way he tried to refrain from shaking in anger. The way his eyes shone. Or how his fingers tightened on the edge of his desk which was actually made of a part of a wing of a plain from the IIWW, she remembered the exposition and the artist clearly in her mind. The desk was the author's, it was there for show and it had been one of the first concretizations of his ambitious designs. He had thought he could convince Chuck to buy anything else, even that it had such great sentimental value that he'd never sell it. Instead he threw the mogul a bone called challenge. And there was nothing quite like a challenge to get Chuck Bass going. In the end, surprise, surprise, the desk was Chuck's property.

As she digressed with a forlorn nostalgic shade over her eyes, her hand slowly caressing the hard, cold material, she didn't notice as he eagerly drank in the sight of her, how his hand lost the hold for two seconds before tightening it crushingly again, how his throat bobbed up and down, and as those ill faded butterflies that should have succumbed to her murderous intents wrecked havoc in his stomach. He felt positively ill, not only because all of the symptoms of being just as in love as before showed, but because as they showed, they slowly interweaved with the anger, the rejection, the despair that has cost him his sanity and stability for the last eleven months.

And then the proverbial dark cloud fell rapidly like acid rain and he rose from his CEO desk and she took a step back from the intensity of his moves. He had always moved like a lion hunting. And often she had felt the gazelle. The prey. But this time, he was positively murderous.

"I thought we had an agreement."

His first words did not respond to hers, and they were a clear statement of power over her head. This was his territory, his building, his island, his city, his country, his Kingdom. And she had ceased her own Queen throne besides his all by herself, by choice.

How dare she, once again enter this domain and speak as if it were still hers. As if nothing had happened, that year before. As if she hadn't been absent for the most part of this year.

As if she hadn't abandoned him.

His thoughts ran wild. And she swallowed thickly nodding to his assessment.

"You're still my husband…"

"Yes, that was the deal, wasn't it? Stay married even though we aren't even living in the same country, wasn't it? All for your beloved reputation"

She swallowed thickly the "I did it for you too" that had lodged in her throat as soon as he finished his sentence. He was definitely not going to make this easy.

"Maybe I don't feel like this is working anymore"

Her face had fallen and her eyes had turned down to inspect the glossy shiny Louboutins adorning her feet. She had never stopped feeling more vulnerable with him than with any other person in the world, even Eleanor. He knew her, truly and deeply and lovely from every corner and shadowy recessed to the great sunny displays of her soul. And so, in her weakened waiting position, she missed the flash of agony and ire that made his nostrils flare and his eyes narrow dangerously before the lines of his face carefully closed to look languorously revolted and nauseated, but somehow fine with the whole situation she was bringing to his desk this fine December morning.

"Fine" Rounding the desk slowly again, with amber eyes never leaving hers, with his mask of coldness in place that reminded her somehow of tragedies from years before, she thought that it seemed he was pushing her away and himself away with every action he took. The next one made her tremble and bite her lip terribly hard, avoiding for all she was worth a reaction that might have not been the ideal for the purpose she was trying to attain. He had reached for one of the drawers cleverly imbedded by the plastic artist on the wing of the plane and slowly and deliberately had taken a manila folder from inside that he then slid to her in the smooth steel surface – his eyes never leaving hers. "I had this drawn up five months ago, I was just waiting for you to come and collect."

Confusion etched on her features, almost managed to throw him out of balance and out of the anger and absolute repulse that was leading the rejection that was taking place. But he couldn't succumb. Anger was what had maintained him on his feet for the last almost year. Anger had kept him from throw it all to hell and just run like he always did. Anger, had prevented him from following her. Anger had been what had kept him alive, away from rooftops and opium joints in Thailand figuratively speaking. His life had tumbled near the edge a few times in his life. And when the worst thing had happened and he hadn't died, he had only Anger to thank for. And so he refused to let go of it just yet. Or ever.

Her brows continued furrowed in confusion and anguish as she picked the manila folder and raised it, still close, to her eye level.

"What's this?"

"What you came to get, I hope"

Her question, slow and deliberate had received an instant, poisonous remark, as sharp as the blade of a knife against her jugular. Especially as deadly. And she felt as drowning in a pool of her own blood with words bubbling out of her throat, and too many things left unsaid, and as if there was no coming back to undo the wrong things that she had done. All her mistakes…

Trembling, her hands fished for the sheets inside.

Divorce Settlement

It was a thick pile of the whitish of papers, waiting for their signatures to end what was probably the unhealthiest and at the same the great happiness provider in their lives.

Mouth agape, she tried to speak a few times only to be interrupted by the movement of her own hands commanded, certainly not by her head but by her heart, destroying the papers to shreds and throwing them viciously to the side, her hands shaking awfully much as she tried to find words to confront that decision. He seemed awestruck in shock with her action as if he couldn't understand it at all. And he indeed couldn't, hadn't her statement just informed him that she was done with this fake marriage?

"Bass…"

"Waldorf, if you have your own papers, I'll sign those too just as happily."

"Will you just shut up?" her eyes resembled pits of coal of the darkest dark, as she, fuming faced him with a deadly certainty and spoke with careful placed words. "I just said to you that I am about done with this charade. There is not going to be a fake marriage anymore, and I sure as hell don't want a divorce."

It took a moment to process, he would admit to that. But that was probably because those were words he definitely wasn't expecting to hear from her. Not after so many time apart. Not after eleven months without a call or a text. Not with knowing and seeing what his PI had told him and showed him, with her looking perfectly happy amidst the Parisian fine neighborhoods with her new Parisian minions and friends, as always in great style, in great parties and always with the same date. So no, he was still pretty pissed off (nothing she was here to say or do would change that in a blink). Because she was basically saying she wanted what she had called "the path for self annihilation" back – Her marriage to him.

Seeing with that bewildered stricken and confuse look must had given a boost to her self confidence, probably while he was not glaring murderously at her she had been able to not only put her defense back up, but also reinforced her attack. She contoured the desk slowly, hesitantly but with a glint on her eyes that spoke of hope and love. A look that he somehow didn't apprehend, because he was still every bit as furious with her as ever.

"I'm saying I'm back for good, Chuck" her hand tentatively reached for his, falling in the amorous, vulnerable state, letting her guard down as she did most of the times they were together. But as soon as he caught her move, he flinched away from her and gave a step backwards, the back of his thighs colliding with the plush material of his CEO chair with the softest thump, that might as well had been the sound of a gun going of in the dead silence that had befallen them.

"Don't" Hissing with narrowed eyes his hands closed in angry fists and his nostrils flared, his jaw tightened too and she recognized, once again, the tell tale signs of a very undoubtedly angry Chuck Bass. "So… you think you can waltz back in here and take back your throne? You think you can just come back after walking out on the most sacred thing in my life?"

Harshly punctuated words hit her hard and she swallowed the knot in her throat. Or at least tried to. All he was saying was true. This time she had been the immature one, fleeing from them, and their marriage. Sometimes it was hard not to see their relationship as it had always been – moving forwards and backwards, deceiving and playing against each other or teaming up against their many enemies. But not something official, an unbreakable bond, as, truthfully speaking it always had been, deep down.

But she was suddenly angry too. Because he should remember, she had not been the only one to make mistakes

"I realized it was stupid of me to run. I know that now. I know our inevitability wouldn't let be far for much longer. But," Her eyes had averted as if she was afraid to let him see the reverence with which she had proffered those words. But Chuck knew her better than he knew himself, and he didn't miss the anxious bob in her throat, the feral fisting of her thin hands, the way the body he knew every inch of tightened and she breathed harshly, her bottom lip quivering against the top one, the rims of her dark haunted eyes, glistened "We both made mistakes…"

The way her voice held steady and her tears didn't fell angered him further. They had always been masochistic and timing hand always been an issue in their relationship – and he couldn't even lie to himself, much less her, that he wanted her to crawl at his feet because she, as sure as hell hadn't suffered as he had these eleven months. He had long passed his suicidal tendencies – that had been another lifetime. He was a different egothistical but unsure boy, frightened to lose the only connection of what he was sure should be unconditional love. But had never been, he was forever grounded with the thought that he had never proved himself to Bart. He had been young and foolish, inconstant, afraid to let her in, to let her show him how much she loved him.

At least that was what he thought, until he found himself on the roof of the Empire, thinking how easy, painless and quick he could end it all, two months after she had left. That was when he knew that his life without her was, actually pretty meaningless. They had no offspring. Actually offspring had been a very tender issue in the last weeks before she left… Bass Industries had been his way to prove Bart had been right in that letter he had left him, and they had increased exportation and managed to grab even bigger deals, it had grown in his hands to a true Empire inside and outside the USA. But he also realized, that it had been some time since the more important thing in his life was no longer that.

And then, when all of his friends thought he was being mature and let her take her time off he was thinking how easy it was to just jump. Sometimes he wondered if she had done it to punish him of all he had done wrong in their relationship…Of course he brushed it off immediately with a sharp remark to his inner thanos of just how miserable and wretched that was. How ridiculous.

So he had opted for Anger… And her statement just didn't sit right with how he remembered the last almost year.

"But I stayed!" he grounded harshly in her face, one of his hands grasping her upper arm firmly. With a little more force than necessary. Both tried to ignore the electricity coursing both their luxury clad bodies, how both stood straighter and how her lips opened deliciously, or how his expression tightened in agony.

How many promises had she broken when she had walked out of their penthouse to not return again for eleven long months?

Was anything true? Did any of the basic pillars that had supported his life through their almost eleven year relationship still stood?

"I stayed, because I wasn't ever willing to let you go. Ever. Even though things were getting out of control, I still believed in you. I believed in us," Releasing her as if she burned he shook his head in silent and ironic distaste, denial, His eyes averted hers and he circled her, because he couldn't bear to be so near her. He missed the way her hand twitched open in his direction or how her body twirled in one movement to follow him with her pleading eyes. "You acted like me when I was seventeen and my father had just died… leaving in the morning with a note asking me not to come for you. Advising me to keep the marriage façade so that we wouldn't hurt our reputations… Running away to France."

"Except you weren't self destructing, you were enjoying yourself. And you weren't tormented by the thought that you're weren't good enough for the person you loved the most in the whole world… you… it was just the opposite right?"

Silence ensued not for the first time, heavy with tension. And this time, their eyes kept their connection. And as defeat swirled in her dark orbs, victory didn't brighten his. And he still felt those butterflies as if they were razors in his stomach. She still felt the burden of his ignorance of what happened days prior to her departure. The bile still rose to her tongue, vile and beastly whenever she thought of speaking about it.

"We were getting sick. Our marriage was ill. And I was falling apart,"

Her hand grasped the Italian leather of the CEO chair, her manicure nails making the material whine, her eyes close and two heavy tears got caught in those long, full lashes of her. Once coy, now they were laden and heavy with despair and pain. And as it could never stop, his heart skipped for her, his hands to reach out for her and bury them in a cocoon of warmth.

And when she accused him of not noticing him he swallowed harshly.

He knew it. He had known it. As soon as he started thinking things through.

It all started when a deal had all gone downwards. The investors hadn't liked the proposal or he wasn't quite as motivational as he usually was. Distracted and nonchalant he had lacked his skills in presenting the deal as he would usually go about it. Truth was, the night before that, After amazing, mind blowing sex in the aftermath of his four days long trip to South Korea, Blair had surprised him with a timid prod about what he thought of someday come to be a father.

The question had caught him unguarded and he had sputtered a ridiculous apology about sending some papers to his secretary and ran out of the… Well, the floor. He had climbed the stairs to his office and disappeared. But his focus hadn't returned and he had failed to pitch that deal.

And then Jack's cold words somehow infiltrated his brain and kept repeating themselves.

" –your father was always more successful when he was single"

He had known he was making a mistake. Thinking only about the company and about his accomplishments as a business man had always cost him Blair once. He had done something despicable, probably the worst thing he had ever done and he had almost lost her to a real life prince and a canary yellow diamond ring.

But they were married now… she wouldn't escape as easily right?

He just needed some time a part to regain his focus.

And that he had done, cleverly evading her questions about his thoughts on paternity, and later ignoring her and then evading her altogether. Diving in work, trying to push himself to the limit. And he had known he was going to be sorry for it. He had started to realize it when she no longer asked him about that. When she had stopped waiting for him at night (which was good because by smell alone, she would most probably get that he had been at Victrola). When she had stopped asking for his day. When her words had turned cold and necessary-only. When she accompanied him to function, but on her own limo, sending one forlorn, longing look to his, a sad smile to Arthur and entering her silver one when they descended their building; or even when after entering with him in a function she would disengage from him and dragged her heavy feet away from the talk he immediately engaged himself on after airily introduce her when she wasn't already an acquaintance of the other part .

When she recoiled from his touch… when he had found the cutest little pink cacharel pouch filled with anti-depressants and sleeping pills. When she had regressed to a heavy stone façade of the bright person she used to be and that he loved. When she made excuses that although sounded ridicule to his hearing and heartstrings, he pretended they were perfectly fine and acceptable, only to run to the bathroom after a lavish and perfect meal. Even when she stopped making excuses, and the bathroom became a mellifluous sordid temple, the porcelain altar her shrine of a devotion, a cult, a ritual to destroy herself. He had ignored it – maybe aware, maybe subconsciously, but he had known. And he'd known he'd regret it to deepest of his core.

He had realized it; he had. But Bass Industries were sailing full ship to the Asian Market and he couldn't let this melt thought his fingers, after all the work he had put in it.

So she had spoken the truth, he had been the one first willing to violate the sanctity of their marriage. He had, once again taken her for granted. And he hadn't been able to acknowledge his fault all those months, because he had held on to the anger. But he had always known he had been the one on the wrong first. He didn't even remember the way her face glowed when she smiled, or the purring of her throat when she licked naughty suggestions from her lips to his ear. Or the look of determination that overcame her when she schemed to throw someone in the mud, and that always had him drawn so strongly for her.

She had, in that last month or so, turned in an empty shell. He remembered small episodes, revealing the true nature of her façade, the way her hands quirked at breakfast and how her fork clattered against the plate as she excused herself when their eyes clashed… her red rimmed eyes, the frantic shake of her hands, her hectic gaze always paranoid… Her body frailer and frailer each week, her cheeks protruding against her skin, as her ribs and hipbones. She had sunken so low. And only now could he admit to himself that he hadn't been making her happy for a long time. Thing is, as soon as he retracted and pulled the evading stunt for a few times she pulled back as well. Still… he had been at fault.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen her looking so jovial in a long time. Even though she looked, by no means, happy, she had regained some of her old glow back. She looked healthier and composed and she wasn't using that monochord, cold tone she had adopted in the month before her leaving.

But to him, and the anger still lodged inside of him, none of that was enough for her running off… it still wasn't…was it?

"So I made a mistake, we were falling apart, I know. And I know part of the drifting apart is my fault, but you could've come to me! You could've reached and told me, and you knew I wouldn't turn you down! Even though that was happening I still loved you and I would be willing if you just pulled me from the blindness I was in, I–"

"It wasn't just that…" her voice low, barely above a murmur still cut though his angry louder voice as he tried to show her the mistake had been mainly hers… she had been the one to never reach out for him and seek him out. But the way her face turned to an ashen grey, how her hands trembled and her breathing deepened manically, made him remember those dark days when they had destroyed themselves.

"When I first asked you about being a father I…"

Swallowing harshly she threw her eyes down and her hands fisted and caressed each other frenetically. Something else, that he couldn't remember? And how had this been related with how she had been acting or her departure? He knew it was sensible because it had been the main source of their distance growing and building until they were strangers in love.

"I really wanted it. Even though my perfect ideal of a future fell so many times at our relationship's feet there are things that will never change, Chuck. And one of my great desires was still having the person I love the most in the world babies." Her sad languid dark depths of eyes faced his, a strange forlorn look caught in them, caged as if rebelling inside of her but she had built the necessary means to keep it there, locked deeply inside of her. "You were definitely the person I loved the most."

He didn't knew it could hurt more than he already hurt but the 'd' after the l word that they had ran against life for lack of better word, –although one could also say they had fought against their selves, their feelings. Or Marcus Beaton. Eleanor's scars on Blair self esteem. Bart's depreciating, disappointed scowl upon Chuck's mind hour upon minute, upon second. His impromptu death and losing everything and forgetting that it wasn't everything because you still had something to hold on, and that she was everything. Thai hookers. Opium. Yale .Nate. Jack Bass. Vanessa…– to say to each other was excruciating. It hurt so much he could barely breathe and for a moment there he thought he could feel the tears pricking behind his eyes as oft happened when he was alone in a cold bed in an abandoned Penthouse where he was merely a whisper of who he had been. Where there was her constantly lurking shadow in every corner.

He couldn't find his voice until she corrected herself. Shaking her head, eyes down and trembling, she mournfully so, sadly mirthful, relayed his release.

"You're still the person I love the most."

Their eyes met again, and he could recognize the impulse to fled in hers, she kept gazing around as if looking for an escape but she knew the office as well as he knew about that little scar she had behind her left knee and that it made it quirk with the lavishes of his tongue and lips – there was only one exit. With his relaxed shoulders and being able to breathe again he tried to give one step towards her, just one. But she curled softly, a dry silent sob escaping her as her hands fell to her stomach.

And then her quaking voice, eyes meeting his made his whole world crumble into him.

"But you wouldn't have been." Her hands fisted in her Dior silk chemise with another sob and eyes red in lost and agony, and pain – pure unbridled pain so deep and cutting and real he felt it burning inside himself.

"Can you understand?" her voice was frenetic as she fisted the material in her hands, trying to make obvious the blooming of the dark knowledge already taking place inside of him. "Can you understand what I'm saying? You wouldn't have been, because I'd have loved this child more than I ever loved, and I hadn't thought that was possible after you… I'd love it like no one ever loved any other person. Like no one ever loved me"

Eyes falling to the ground again, as one of her hands reached for the leather in the CEO chair again preventing her from succumbing to the lost of balance.

Sometimes he forgot she suffered in her mother's selfishness throughout the years almost as much as he had suffered from the lack of love Bart had always showed him. But Eleanor had changed when she married Cyrus, maybe even before –She had realized her mistakes towards Blair and eventually had became a better mother. And even though his father had died most probably dissatisfied with him, Blair had been afraid too.

But her desire to love was much bigger than his fright of failing in being a parent.

"That ni-night… " her eyes turned outside, giving up facing him and contemplating New York instead as if the city that had been hers, that they had owned (once, together), she stuttered but he could recognize the determination in her voice. She had decided she was going to tell him, and here she was. Small, fragile, the thing he held closest to his heart, his everything answering the question he still hadn't been able to lift the weight of shock from his entrails to form. How? "That night I said your name for the first time in five weeks. Since you had started avoiding me and running of to Victrola instead of coming home, I swore not to call you by your name until you came back to me the husband I cherished and wanted and loved, as he did me…"

A snort from her made the pain twist repeatedly inside him and this time he was man enough for a step towards her, the magnetic field interfering with his vision – or were there tears?

"I never called you again until that night. You hadn't returned, but I needed that husband…"

"Blair," He hadn't managed to hold it in, it was too heavy, as if it was a weight pulling him down to drown aimlessly in the Hudson. She prevented his interruption with a frenetic shake of her head, although he only saw her mahogany waves flying around her shoulders.

"I had to tell you this… I'm not, I," Pause. Short, tense, painful. Deep breath. "I had to tell you, because now I'm better. Now I can do this."

And so silence sewed his mouth as he watched the rhythm of her nimble hand clenching and unclenching his chair fascinated and his head heard but his heart had been locked passageway to info, because he needed to breathe. Breathing was damn important for people's lives.

"I really need to tell you this" a silence filled whisper that spoke of restrained pain and fury. "I called for you all night. I'd given Dorota the night off. The rest of the staff wasn't there because it was Saturday. All night, Chuck, as our child left my body in blood and tore me from the inside out… Dorota found me in the morning. If it weren't for her… the doctors said that minutes would've mattered enough to decide between life or death. But I realized that through the whole two and a half months that we had been falling apart –I didn't have a thing to hold on but… The baby would've made me so unbearably happy, just to find it gone… And I-I, I couldn't… I just couldn't…"

Small breaths, very shallow and the leather stretched under her nails. As he heard, from far away the way wretched sobs ripped their way from her chest.

"I warned the doctors to don't dare tell you anything."

"Did you know?"

He managed to ask the question that had taken root as soon as she ended her explanation. Because he needed to understand, how had not known? She had been hurting herself. Wasn't she aware that's she had carried a little Bass inside her? And just the thought of it inside his brain nearly made him cry out, hold the brain secure inside his skull as if it was about to break and gush out, with the knowledge that that life was forever lost. From the knowledge that she had carried such heavy, drowning, cursed weight on her shoulders… alone.

And then her eyes were on his again. First came the pain, lashing and cruel, then the rage, the anger, the hatred, and then cruelty and malice laced with them all, as she walked to him deliberately slow but suddenly so near (and yet so far away as if a barrier of ice had built between them). Her evil stance changed to her doe eyed faked pure beauty as she leaned her head to the right, watching him with her rage, that raw feeling caged inside her slowly letting go of the locks.

"Haven't I just told you how miserable you made me? Don't you think I'd have held on to the only thing that would make life with you or without you bearable?"

Her words were balm and salt to his wounds. Because he should never doubt she would never do anything to endanger such a precious thing created by the both of them. A life born from his loins and her womb… And suddenly his and Blair's features started meshing up together in his head and there were so many possibilities... And they would never know. He would not ever meet his son or his daughter.

And frankly, it was his fault. As it started processing in his mind he came to the conclusion that after almost driving Blair insane and making her relapse with his own insecurities – something he hadn't expect to have so late in their decade long relationship, he had disgraced her. No wonder she had run to France. If he had been a better husband he would have not evaded the paternity issue. How could someone want something he had never even thought about it so much? Trying to quell the deep agonizing twist in his chest he told himself that was what had almost happened with Blair before. And now with their child.

Truth was, had he been a good happy husband, he would've been lying next to her, maybe even awake watching her sleep or watching the rise of her breast as she slowly whizzed the night away – as he had done so many times. If he had been a good husband she wouldn't have been stress and out of control, wouldn't have relapsed nor began taking those god damn awful pills. Had he been better to her how she deserved, she didn't have to scream his name for the first time in almost month and a half when she was losing their child alone and helpless, her life threatened. The idea of entering the master bedroom the morning after to find his wife bled to death and ashen colored, cold from death and distance. He froze in his spot taking her all in again. She was here –warm and alive, full with curves again, although broken and wretched, barely standing, in his reach and back to him after how much she suffered at his hands.

He'd fucked up for good this time.

"…I know you know I relapsed." Her voice had some of the monochord tone she had used that moth so many times with him…He imagined this was her coping. He swallowed and his gaze fell to his right ashamed, watching the way the chinchilla furs reflected the light of his expensive chandelier. He had known and he never reached out for her. He had never tried to stop her. And he knew. On some level he knew. "And I'm guessing you found the pouch in the bathroom. Aside from that I think my whole behavior was very self explanatory and I know you know I was hurting myself, falling in the routine of the Stepfford wife, ignoring that we were so much more than husband and wife. But I was weak and I didn't fight for you."

Her eyes hadn't returned to his. And for a moment he was reminded of a girl lost in lust and adventure, secret and passion in her teens, sneaking up with him behind his best friend and her ex boyfriends back. Would she ever look at him the same way? Like he had turned her life around for so much better.

"After I asked you about being a father, I took a test, and it was negative… but it was wrong. It was wrong and I had no idea. I would never have continued if I knew. I was sick, and it was easy to mistake the nausea for my… bulimic urges" her voice was bitter and that was when he realized Blair thought she was guilty. She didn't even seem to blame him. Through all the conversation, now that he thought about it, it didn't seem like she was finding him guilty of murder. But he sure as hell considered himself.

"Blair," this time he walked full steps to her back and stood just behind her, their energy flowing into each other and he hadn't been as close to her in such a long time… His right hand rose on its own accord brushing her curls aside. Her whole body had turned to a cold, hard rock as she felt his presence and touch. "I know you wouldn't ever hurt it on purpose. I know… This is my entire fault…"

"No!" she shook her head again, turned around and wiped her face swallowing harshly, that paranoid gazed returned flittingly to the door before finding his and soften to cold and mellow. Almost empty. "No, it was both our fault. My shrink insists it's no one fault, but that's not exactly true, now is it?" her face twisted and his mimicked hers, but mostly in surprise. A shrink?

"A shrink?"

"I suppose you have photos of me socializing and mingling in France?" her cold eyes faced his without a blink and not even a little flustered but very seriously he nodded because he was still expecting that explaining.

"I do. Mike's still my trusty #5 on speed dial."

She nodded jerkily and looked outside forlorn again, so distant as if he wasn't just behind her, as if she was a shadow and there was no real heat emanating from her.

"That would be the group. Women and men that lost their… children. It was good. It made me be better, deal with it better. In there we tell each other everything about our losses."

Ahh, so those were her friends, the collected stylish and classy persons he had seen in a house doorway saying goodbye to Blair.

Alone. She had done it alone, carried this weight alone, she had been the sole supporter of pain this entire time.

"It would have made 3 months today, if it had been due like the doctors would predict. I made the math myself."

He bit his lip and took the ultimate risk bringing his thick manly hands to wrap against her arms again, but this time he was gentle, afraid she would try to escape, afraid she wouldn't let him share the pain with her. Because although he wanted to be burdened with it too, splitting the agony with her, had he really even any right over that hurt? He was the father but… hadn't he provoked its death with his actions and… Oh God, how could he even look her in the face?

It took some time but she eventually snuggled up in him, and in that moment Chuck thought he would cry, seeing her healthy and willing to be there on her own, and to stay (that was what she had said, wasn't it?) and he felt warmth he never really had felt outside of their relationship spreading through his lower back and stomach. Both her hands fisted in each other under his chin, he closed his arms around her and kissed her mahogany locks urgently. His eyes closing and moisture gathering in his lashes.

"I'm sorry I gave up on us. I'm sorry for pretending to not notice. I'm sorry for being so afraid. I'm sorry for nor being there"

"It's fine Chuck. I need you. Even after losing it, my thoughts always drifted to you. Even when I was in the mental hospital… because of the baby. I always dreamt of coming back home to you. After everything, I don't know how not to need you."

Her voice sad and tiny, spoke nothing of the epic glorious love he had for her bursting the arteries and veins in his heart. It was sad and defeated. As if she had tried to give up on it but got sick of fighting against something like that, inevitable.

"But I need you too. You know I do. And we are here now. We can be happy again, we'll never be afraid to tell each other what we are feeling never again, and I promise, I promise I won't pull that stunt ever again. I was just too afraid to have you as my first priority when the company needed me so much. So I tried to tell myself you didn't need me half as much. Except you did – twice as much. And I- I had no idea…"

She snuggled further in his chest, pretending not to hear his words.

"I don't… want to speak of it ever again. I hope you finally understand why I had to leave. But I'm back. Even when the most awful things happened in my life, you're still the most important thing. So I'm back. I don't want to speak ever again. And I don't want to have children anymore, you needn't worry. I'm fine."

Her voice small and forlornly lenient was muffled by his warmth body, and he remembered when she had melancholically said they're both so awful they belonged together, back when he had done one of the most stupid things in his life and traded her for a hotel deed. Worse, when he had been her last choice from all the people in her life, he had been her last resort, and he made some pretty cruel remarks about her and his father's Arabians. A rejection he knew weighted him as much as she still.

But although he knew, after what happened something should have changed in her attitude with him, she seemed on the verge of breaking her thick layer of ice every single time she spoke. But still didn't. She was behaving like that because she felt guilty, he got that. But how could she not find him guiltier? Had he debased her so much, tore her down so much that she had no more self-esteem? At least not even enough to slap him, call him names, blame him, cry on him…

They needed to speak on why that had happened, share their feelings of loneliness, fright, rejection or else it would happen again. And he couldn't bear to be without her again. And although he had thought her a coward at first, he himself would have probably run had he been in her shoes. How could she be bearing such traumatic and drastic news without getting crazed on him? This barely seemed the Blair he remembered.

And then, all the annoying condescendence on her feelings for him… As if she wasn't satisfied at all for being here, as if something inside her had made her return. Maybe Blair carried the weight of the comfort she found in his arms when she had lost a child and felt she never deserved to be happy again.

Or the ridiculous idea of never get pregnant again? Now that he imagined it, now that he had imagined it for every single day she hadn't been here there was no way he didn't want it…

Why had everything became so complicated?