Mark and Moisture

by Syrianora

“Look at my eyes.” His heart leapt in his chest at the reverence, and he locked eyes with hers. And the beating stilled deep within his chest. Chocolate. Dark, effortless, and pure: it was the shade of Blair Waldorf’s eyes. Future/Supernatural CB One-Shot

Title: Mark and Moisture

Author: Syrianora

Rating: Mature

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All is used for entertainment, none for profit.

Pairings: Chuck and Blair.

Summary: "Look at my eyes." His heart leapt in his chest at the reverence, and he locked eyes with hers. And the beating stilled deep within his chest. Chocolate. Dark, effortless, and pure: it was the shade of Blair Waldorf's eyes. Future/Supernatural CB One-Shot

Author's Note: I know I should be updating BABW, but this one-shot just would not leave me alone. It takes place right after 2x13, my favorite GG episode, and is somewhat inspired by a fic I read many many years ago. I'm feeling somewhat supernatural :) I've got so many more one-shots in the works. Please leave a thought.

Little girls, like butterflies, need no excuse.

Robert A. Heinlein

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There were many things in the world Chuck Bass took great pleasure in.

A freshly rolled joint, a warm and willing body beneath his sheets, a collection of enviable suits and jackets: these were a few of the aspects in his prosperous world that gave him a significant amount of pride and joy. He did not find himself superficial; rather, he felt educated in the more important matters of life. His darkest days and nights were always punctuated with tumblers and a familiar amber liquid that always seemed to end the miserable tone of the previously despondent day.

And yet, Chuck Bass absolutely despised the morning hangover.

Shifting slightly in his seat, Chuck's eyes remained closed as he adjusted his aching body to the leather chair in his library. His back was nearly screaming in agony at the twisted angle his body had positioned itself throughout the night, a vague recollection allowing him to remember stumbling into one of his father's various apartments scattered throughout the city.

Last night had been the fifth night of a repeating series of events: booze and drugs littering the floor at Victrola's, an eager body taken near the narrow and darkened hallway by the stage, and finally ending with his collapse in his room by the time a red dawn scattered across the sky.

His head continued to throb incessantly, the pounding within the confines making him wince slightly, even in his heavy sleep. His mouth felt dry and disgusting; the taste of the vodka that had nearly drowned out his bodily fluids still remained in his mouth, leaving him with an unholy reminder of the amount of booze he had subjected himself to that earlier evening. He attempted to lick his lips, cringing as his tongue met contact with extremely chapped lips and the vague taste of cheap lip balm. He dimly realized that he was still in his trousers and suit jacket from the night before, and he frowned slightly at the fact that he had slept in his clothes due to his sheer alcohol consumption, eternally disgusted with himself and the recent hygiene he had decided to blatantly dismiss.

Grimacing without shame, Chuck lifted his eyes open, his orbs gently adjusting to the flurry of light that had leaked through his curtains, a well-practiced habit after countless mornings following a night of bits and pieces. Taking deep and heavy breaths, Chuck lifted himself out of his chair, blissfully praying to reach the bathroom as quick as he could to avoid another minute spent in his filthy state.

However, his eyes immediately widened as he saw that he was not the sole occupant in the room.

A little girl, possibly about eight or nine years old, stood near the bookshelf-lined wall, her tiny fingers scanning over the spines of the countless books and novels Bart Bass had found extreme pleasure in. A pristine white bow rested atop her darkened curls, and she wore a lacy white children's gown that fell just above her knees, her legs wrapped in faultless white stockings until they reached a pair of shined black leather shoes. She stood high on her toes, head lifted upward as she took in the numerous words and descriptions stocking the shelves before her.

And this stranger made no move to greet the owner of the household.

Chuck gulped soundly, his mind slowly beginning to clear until he realized that he had absolutely no idea who the girl was.

Let alone how she had gotten into his apartment undetected.

The perfection of her stance and outfit did remind him of a child he had known years ago, and he pushed said thoughts away, refusing to acknowledge the temptress that had burned into his soul.

That little girl had changed far more than he had ever thought possible.

Licking his lips once again, Chuck opened his mouth, but found no words emerged. He wasn't exactly quite sure what to say to this unwelcome character; normally, he would have screamed at the reporter, a personality desperate for a story on the Bass orphan's rapid fall into oblivion, to evacuate his home before he would notify the authorities.

Ever since Bart's death, the reporters had been ridiculous; some days, he would emerge from his apartment and find them swarming his home, thrusting microphones and a few flashes into his face, tossing questions about his plans for the future of his father's company, or the newest debauchery they had heard him involved in from the previous night. Their rude intrusions had become even more horrid; they would shove pictures of himself and an easily forgettable brunette and question why she was in more pictures than deemed possible. He would cringe as images of her body in a flimsy slip came into view, or the memories of a slow dance among wintry snowflakes overwhelmed his mind.

Scotch was a blessing, indeed.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts and forcing himself to deal with the issue at hand, Chuck watched in silence as the girl furrowed her brows and brought a finger to her bottom lip in slight pondering as her eyes kept locked with the books before her.

A strange feeling overcame Chuck as the gesture seemed a bit too familiar for a complete stranger.

As if he had… seen it before.

Unwilling to take a stance in fear of frightening the child, yet unwilling to allow said child to parade around in his home as if the owner wasn't gawking at her figure, Chuck searched his mind for the right words to say for a peaceful ending to a most unusual morning.

However, before he opened his mouth to speak what he deemed particularly lacking in his usual wickedness, the child turned from the bookshelf and met his flabbergasted gaze, her hands landing easily to her hips.

"Finally! I was waiting forever for you to wake up!"

Chuck's look of absolute astonishment might have been amusing, if he wasn't currently standing in his own apartment entirely stunned by the stranger before him.

The child was of a pale complexion, her rosy lips contrasting deeply with the color of her skin. She had a small nose and high cheekbones, accentuated by a high forehead that did release her from the confines of her younger self. Her amber hair was held back by a headband decorated with a large white bow, and Chuck found that he could not stop staring at the complete stranger before him.

Of all the things he had expected her to say, he had never expected a tone of pure annoyance to accompany said words. In fact, he had been willing to be kind to the girl and offer her a ride to whatever playground she came from, promising to keep her wandering feet a secret from her parents.

However, such kindness was beginning to look entirely too generous.

"I was going to watch some tv until you woke up," she exclaimed with a haughty air, her hands still placed against her hips in defiance. "But your programs are so boring!"

Perhaps a healthy dose of a Chuck Bass signature of cordiality could be undertaken.

Chuck couldn't help but stare at her, his mouth gaped open a little as the stranger before him continued to hold a conversation with him as if she knew him.

"Thank heavens you finally decided to get up! Though I suppose anybody who had the night you had would have some trouble keeping their eyes open."

A wave of shock swept through Chuck's spine as he continued to gape at the girl. How was the girl alluding to the activities he had partaken in the previous night? Unless he truly had been absolutely hammered the night before, he was quite certain that Victrola hadn't extended its age limits without his consent.

Even if she had been watching him, why hadn't he noticed a girl that reminded him so easily of one he had known before?

When he uttered no sound, merely attempting to place it all together in his hazy head, the little girl spoke. "Don't worry, I didn't follow you last night," she exclaimed, her eyes rolling in exasperation at the man's misty eyes. "Though it's not that hard to guess where the great Chuck Bass spends his nights after his father died."

His eyes narrowed a bit at the girl's brazen words.

For they were absolutely brazen, indeed.

Although she was a child, and possibly not old enough to begin to even understand the force of the emotions that challenged him everyday, he wasn't about to let a simple girl play him for an utter fool.

Or begin to downplay the intensity of his father's death.

He was dealing with it on his own; no character in his life had even attempted to lecture Chuck into the proper way of mourning a figure he had tried to impress for his entire life.

And here stood this girl, a mere child that came up a bit past his waist and still wore the signature tights of Sunday schoolchildren, regarding his mourning as if she understood the horror of losing a man he had taught himself to hate.

"Excuse me," he exclaimed, his voice raspy in the early morning as he attempted to keep his anger in check. But the conceited air of the child's character was really starting to pester him. "But do you mind telling me who the hell you think you are?"

Well, the civility he was attempting to maintain had surely flown out the window.

However, instead of the cowering girl he had expected to see groveling at his feet at a grown character reprimanding her so easily, the girl looked unmoved by his challenge. She merely sighed loudly, turning her body back to the bookshelf before her and running her fingers over the spines once more. "You've got quite a collection here."

His eyes continued to watch her as she walked along the expanse of the bookshelf-lined wall, the clicking of her heels reminding him of a certain child-like innocence she would surely maintain. Even if she walked and talked like someone older than her age, the persistent rose of her lips and the realization of her height did help to reduce her down to her appropriate years.

"Not exactly the bedtime stories any child is fond of, but equally impressive."

And yet, the girl before him did not bear all the semblances of childhood innocence. Her words were lined with a far-off intelligence that he could only credit to numerous years of education; she seemed like the kind of girl who ruled her peers and studied greater literature than even he himself had begun to crack open.

He frowned slightly as that earlier connection appeared once again.

There existed something recognizable, something he had experienced once before in his lifetime, and yet, the utter impossibility of it all allowed him to shrug the thought from overdeveloping.

It was impossible, after all.

Finally finding the strength in his legs to move, Chuck walked past his desk and moved towards her, his steps slow and deliberate as she continued to run her eyes through the various titles. When he finally arrived at her feet, he kneeled unconsciously, an action unfrequented throughout his entire life as he brought himself down to her level.

His eyebrows furrowed, his head tilted to the side as he regarded her figure closely and murmured his next words.

"Who are you?"

Instead of the anger that had laced his voice earlier, his words were spoken with a somewhat softness and curiosity.

The little girl finally turned her body back to his. She extended a bit past his height after he had kneeled before her, so he lifted his head upwards to meet her face, still stunned into a silence as he found her features eerily familiar.

And yet, he couldn't seem to put it together. He doubted even an extremely sober and alert part of himself could have done it either.

She leaned forward, her face a few inches from his before she spoke.

"Look at my eyes."

His heart leapt in his chest at the reverence with which she spoke the sentence; instead of focusing on the sweet way her voice had uttered those words, a sweetness that he hadn't heard in days, he locked his eyes with her own.

And the beating stilled deep within his chest.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he cursed under his breath, his body falling backwards as he backed away from the girl before him on his hands, head pounding and palms sweating as he grasped at the floorboards before him, desperate to flee from the realization that was before him.

Chocolate.

That had been the shade of the little girl's orbs.

Dark, effortless, and pure: it was the shade of Blair Waldorf's eyes.

"Hello, Daddy."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chuck pulled himself to his feet, his fingers already fumbling for the cellular device thrown against the dark wood of the desk. His thumb sweaty and shaking, he couldn't seem to find the right digits to will this absolute dream to end.

"Don't bother calling security," the girl exclaimed with an exasperated sigh. "They'll think you're crazy."

Chuck finally willed himself to remain calm, allowing his fingers to locate the digits he so desperately willed to appear. When he had spoken with the head of security at the Palace, who had assured him he would be up within the next minute, Chuck had ended the call and tipped his head back, engulfing as much air as his lungs would allow. He permitted his eyes to glance back at the little girl, who had, once again, turned her attention back to the collection of books before her. However, instead of remaining quiet as she had earlier done, she had begun to hum to herself, her mind playing a rhythm inside her head as she walked with a sort of new elegance to her feet.

He was going to murder the instigator of the most ill-advised attempt at cleverness. The man would literally be screaming for mercy when Chuck Bass was done with teaching a lesson to the person who was obviously trying to humiliate him.

Or drive him to insanity.

He had just woken up from a severe hangover and a brutal drug intrusion; he was permitted to mistaking Blair Waldorf's eyes for the dark eyes of a little girl.

"This is one sick joke," he spoke with an air of revulsion, his eyes glaring at the little girl who had become a plot of some sort of twisted attempt at a laugh. "Who put you up to this? Was it a reporter? Lily? Nate?"

The little girl chuckled at the man's reasoning, instead keeping her focus on a particularly intriguing book placed near the right end of the shelf. "Did you say Nate?" she spoke with an air of laughter, a smile glinting at her face. "We both know he isn't capable of anything requiring more than a few brain cells."

Chuck narrowed her eyes at her form. The girl even had her story right; only a select few within his circle knew of the nonexistent workings of Nate's mind in things far greater than himself. The mastermind had to be someone he knew well, someone who desperately wished to drive Chuck Bass insane with puzzlement.

And yet, not a single soul crept into his mind that would be capable of such deception. Even he himself found the joke so treacherous.

Before he could question the girl's role in the entire plot, for it was certainly a plot, no question about it, the head of security, a man Chuck had gotten to know, burst into the room, a gun held out from between shaking hands as he stormed into the library.

Chuck nearly rolled his eyes at the man's gesture. Leave it to Stan to take a simple intrusion as a cause for the precautions of a holdup. However, the scene would do: nothing was more fearful than having a police officer brand a weapon as a sign of the serious nature of the offense.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Bass?" the portly man exclaimed, his balding head dripping with sweat that made Chuck cringe inwardly. He wondered how he himself had looked in Stan's eyes: he couldn't even stomach the feeling of his sweaty body still desperate for a much-needed shower.

However, Chuck turned his attention back to the girl, who seemed impervious to the authority that had rushed to his room.

Just who was this girl, and why was she so utterly unmoved by the workings around her?

"Please escort little miss Annie out of my room," he exclaimed, gesturing to the girl standing before the bookshelf. "And notify the police; I'm sure her parents are looking for her."

However, when Stan remained standing in his place, and Chuck nearly cried out in anger at his only desire of engulfing himself in the steam of a hot shower, Stan spoke.

"Sir, there's no one here," the man spoke with a slight tremor in his voice, his gun lowering steadily as Chuck's widened eyes glared back at him.

"What do you mean, 'there's no one here'," Chuck exclaimed, his voice laced with annoyance. "Stop complicating the situation, Stan, and get her out of here!"

The large character's brows knitted together, eyes searching around the room. "I'm afraid that we-we are the only two occupants in this-"

"What the hell is going on?!" Chuck groaned loudly in frustration, his feet rushing over to the girl and extending his hands forward to push her form towards the police officer. "Don't you see-"

His eyes widened as his hands went through the little girl's head.

Yes, seeped through.

The particles of her form separated as his hands slipped through the girl's form, as if she didn't exist at all.

Chuck froze in his spot, his hands extended outward as the little girl turned back to him, a smile showcasing her gleaming pearl aligned teeth.

And when she spoke, he recognized the smirk that he himself had so meticulously perfected in his years of existence.

"Told ya."

When silence engulfed the room, Stan licked his lips in thought, his eyes taking note of the numerous bags of cocaine littering the confines of the library of the apartment. However, instead of charging the young boy with a few cases of possession charges, he merely cleared his throat and nodded his head slowly. The man was dealing with a death and some cases of psychotic breakdown; he surely didn't need any more legal troubles. "I'll be heading out now, sir."

And the man scurried out of the apartment as if the hounds of hell were after him.

Chuck's eyes were wide as he continued to stare at the little girl, his mind unwilling to understand what had just happened.

He had woken up to find a complete stranger in his home, with the eyes of Blair Waldorf stamped across her face, and had found that she was merely an apparition that only he was allowed to see.

Vaguely, he wondered just how high he had gotten the earlier night. When he awoke, he was sure that he would never forget the image of the child claiming to be his daughter with Blair Waldorf.

"You can shut your mouth now," the girl exclaimed with a slight smile. "You're not completely crazy." And with that, she winked her eye, bringing her hand upward and extending her forefinger and thumb a bit apart.

"Well, just a little bit."

Chuck continued to openly gape at her form, his hands lowering downward as they started to yell for having been extended for such an amount of time.

Finally, he willed himself to speak, his voice low and scratchy. "How did you get in here?"

The little girl laughed; a full, effortless laugh that brought an unfamiliar feeling to the pit of Chuck's stomach. "Your hands just went right past me, and you wanna know how I managed to get into your apartment?"

Chuck opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again when he realized that he had no words to respond with. This morning was entirely too bizarre ; all semblance of thought was very difficult to process. Instead, he continued to gape at the girl, his eyes wide as he took in her innocent air.

She pursed her lips, nodding a bit to herself and twisting back to the lining of novels. Tentatively, she reached an arm up and pulled out a worn copy of what Chuck saw as A Tale of Two Cities.

"Is this book any good?"

Chuck opened his mouth and willed his voice to appear. He managed to force his voice to sound cordial. "I-uh-I haven't read it."

"Hmm," the little girl exclaimed thoughtfully, brows knitted together as she flipped the cover and ran her eyes over the first few lines. With a disgusted sigh, she placed the book back where she had found it and continued to skim her fingers over the books, obviously unimpressed by the words she had encountered.

Chuck found he couldn't agree with her more.

"So you're like- from the future?" he rasped, his voice hilted and laced with confusion. This dream was particularly interesting indeed; he might as well get answers from this enticing character before him. "That's why you're like an apparition?"

The little girl turned back to him and raised a chocolate brow, and Chuck nearly leapt back at the gesture.

He had seen that before.

That sense of haughty character, a feeling of standing before a personality so steady in assurance... he had seen it before.

"Well, I am a product of a conception in a child-like form," she explained, her voice level and still. "So I guess you could say I'm from the future."

Chuck gulped once again. "What are you doing here?"

The little girl's eyes narrowed a bit, as if studying his form. Then, after a moment of silence, she spoke with curiosity.

"What were you doing at exactly three AM one week ago?"

Chuck opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. One week ago, he had gotten that fateful call from the hospital about his father's slow collapse at the hospital bed.

However, he found he couldn't voice said emotion to a mere little girl. After all, he wasn't quite sure of the emotions himself.

"I can't recall."

The child tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, pressing down at the skin tenderly. Her hands wringing, she released the lip and moved forward in the only sign of shyness that Chuck had seen so far.

Something unfamiliar in his chest stirred alive.

Chuck watched with curiosity as the girl moved apprehensively, finally stopped a few inches away from his form.

She extended her fingers outward, and Chuck watched the travel of her fingers as she hovered them at the air.

And Chuck, unsure of how he had understood the request, slowly knelt downward until her fingers pressed against his forehead.

Chuck's eyes widened in shock as the frosty sensation of her fingertips came in contact with his skin.

He hadn't been able to touch her, but now the girl pressed her fingers against his as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Before he could question that realization, he felt his body twisting at an odd angle, his eyelids shutting tightly and painfully as a brazen heat overcame him.

And his eyes saw nothing but a white screen.

Chuck's form landed agonizingly against a hardened surface. Groaning deeply, he picked up his body from the wood floor, his head unwilling to satisfy him with a few moments of declared peace. Sighing with exhaustion, Chuck looked around, expecting to see the little girl that would surely be receiving the characteristic Chuck Bass glare.

And yet, he found himself absolutely alone.

Chuck gulped deeply, his eyes staring out before him. He knew this place; he was standing inside the Waldorf home. Briefly, his ears noted a few congratulatory phrases and the distinct sound of bottled champagne being popped open, along with a few heavy cheers.

Chuck moved forward and leaned his eyes over the stair railing. He saw Eleanor Waldorf and her new beau, Cyrus Rose, locked in an engaging kiss as Serena and Aaron looked on with adoration.

Furrowing his brows, Chuck moved away from the stair railing in absolute confusion. He had heard about the Waldorf-Rose impromptu wedding celebration that had occurred at their home the night of his father's funeral.

He had been aware of it through the papers.

Had the little girl… sent him back in time?

Gulping once again, Chuck brought a hand to still his pounding head. The sounds of the wedding slowly died out, until all that was left was his heavy breathing filling the corridor.

His eyes looked over the stair railing once again, shocked to find that the previous guests had evaporated in the air, leaving the area empty and void of any remembrances of the blissful event that had occured.

Immediately, his eyes trailed over to a familiar door.

Walking with slight trepidation, Chuck found himself moving to Blair Waldorf's bedroom, where he had sought comfort in her embrace that fateful night. In fact, he remembered the way she had held him so tightly against her breast, his tears falling over his cheeks and over her arms in a silent prayer of forgiveness, his hand clutching at her pale arm as he sought solace in her heavenly arms.

But why would the girl send him here? Was this some sort of sick gesture for him to see what the two meant to each other? Proof that she really was a product of their "love"?

Chuck found himself grumbling with disgust. No matter what the girl said, there was no way that he and Blair had produced another living being. The last time they had… done it had been months ago, and it had been with the firmest protection money could buy.

And she would have known by now. After the fiasco of the previous year, he was sure she would have learned her lesson in keeping those kinds of secrets from him.

Chuck placed his hand against the cooled knob of the door, his breathing deep and heavy as he slowly pushed the door open.

All the breath was knocked out of his lungs by what he saw.

He saw his previously tormented self, accentuated by the mess of dark hair atop his head that lay uncontrolled, and a wrinkled Armani suit plastered to his body.

He saw his previously tormented self, hanging over the form of a nearly shaking Blair Waldorf.

Chuck could see Blair's eyes wide as she lay against the sheets of her bed, his other self's body hovering over her. Her dress had been ripped down the middle, and the gleaming skin of her thighs against the moonlight streaming through the windows was revealed as her dress had been hiked up to nearly the underside of her breasts.

"Please, Blair," he heard himself say, a delicate rasp clinging to his voice. "I need to feel, please."

He saw the muscles of Blair's throat work against the moonlight, her arms extending outward to rest against the sheets, in what Chuck would deem silent surrender.

"Okay, Chuck," she spoke against the silence of the room. "Okay."

A morbid sense of fascination overcame Chuck as he watched his past self quickly fumble at his pants, working at the belt that held the fabric together. When his pants lay at his knees, and his hands made quick work of Blair's panties that were easily tossed to the side, Chuck found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him.

By a moment's notice, the two were naked before his eyes, clothes easily thrown against the silken sheets, before a knelt Chuck began his intrusion by swiftly entering her.

He heard Blair wince at the intrusion; surely, she was still dry, as clear tears formed at the corners of her eyes. He saw her tug at her bottom lip, press tightly at the skin as Chuck began a disorganized rhythm of pumping in and out. His hands grasped at her thighs, pressing tightly as his fingers made indentations at the precious skin, lifting her ass upwards from the sheets and moving their bodies up the silken covers.

Blair's face remained hidden as Chuck pressed his face against Blair's neck tightly. However, he saw her nails extend down his back, down to his ass, clawing desperately as Chuck continued to pump into her without the tenderness of their first time.

And finally, when Chuck groaned loudly against Blair's neck and curled his head backwards before slumping against her figure in defeat, Blair's ankles still crossed at his back, and his knees still pressed against the sheets, Chuck released the breath he had unconsciously been holding.

Moments passed before Blair moved. He saw her grimace slowly as she pulled his former self out of her and rested his body besides hers, covering his slightly shivering form with the sheets.

He saw Blair lay back against the sheets, her deep and heavy breaths invading the room as her breasts rose with every large inhalation.

Then, he saw her rise slowly and wince tightly, her eyes shut and clear tears forming at the corners once again as she began to move towards a small white pill atop her vanity on trembling legs.

The last thing he saw before the screen turned white was the moisture that gleamed against her inner thighs.

The last thing he heard before the screen turned white was the sound of released tears into the night.

Chuck found himself standing in his previous position, the little girl staring back up at him with a slight smile on her face.

Chuck willed his voice to speak. "We… We had sex that night?"

Normally, Chuck wouldn't have been so vulgar in front of a mere child.

But, this entire experience was way too unusual for any sort of cordiality.

However, the little girl seemed unmoved by the question. "Well, you were a bit gone to remember exactly what happened," she exclaimed thoughtfully, keeping her eyes locked with his.

"But yes, you guys did do it."

Chuck nodded slowly, moving his eyes to rest against the wall that stood in front of him. It all made complete sense now.

The confusion that had engulfed his soul when he had showered the night after and saw long streaks of crimson red extending down his back through the mirror.

The way Serena's eyes had seemed to lock on his figure when he had seen her strolling along the streets of New York a few days ago.

The lack of calls from a certain brunette.

"Does Blair remember?"

He hadn't assumed that the entire event was so forgettable; in fact, he wasn't sure that the effect of entering her when she was so dry would be so easily diminshed the days after. He heard the little girl scoff at his question, as if the mere suggestion was ludicrous. "Of course!"

And yet, one of the last few images he had seen was still present through his mind. Chuck's voice faltered a bit as he spoke. "That was a morning after pill, wasn't it?"

The little girl kept her gaze on the man who refused to meet hers. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she wasn't sure whether to entertain that question with a response.

Because, honestly, she wasn't quite sure.

Chuck's eyes were frantic as he returned back to hers, his body kneeling to her height as he spoke quickly. "What day were you born?"

The little girl extended a smile to him, her dark eyes brightening with amusement. "Ah yes! Finally the smart questions!" She cleared her throat, as if preparing to make the most important declaration of all. "I was born on a cold, autumn day in September of 2010."

Taking note of the date, Chuck's eyes widened at the blatant realization that stood before him.

"That's… nine months from now."

And he saw his exact smirk replicated upon the child's features.

"Exactly."

Chuck gulped soundly. He would have deemed the little girl a beautifully talented actress and sent her along her way on any other amusing day.

And yet, the way she had sent him into a part of his past and made him a witness to that act, and the way that the earlier security guard hadn't seen her, was really starting to frighten him.

"So Blair and I… conceived you that night."

It sounded so unusual, pairing he and Blair's names with anything relating to a conception.

The smirk that had found its way to the girl's features steadily dissolved. Instead, she looked a bit saddened and despondent.

"Well, that's how the story goes. Except…"

Chuck immediately grasped on to that sense of doubt. "Except what?"

The little girl offered a small smile before an explanation, her voice humming with foreboding. "Well, we still don't know if Mom took that pill, now, do we?"

It sounded even more unusual to have that little girl refer to Blair as her mother.

Chuck opened his mouth to retaliate, but found he couldn't. Although he had seen that sacred act before his eyes, the last thing he had seen was Blair's naked form before the pill that had been resting at her vanity.

"So you could…"

"I could exist, or I could not. Me and Tommy are trying to figure it out: watch your time together, see if He's gonna give you guys a go."

The mention of another name made him slightly dizzy. "Who's Tommy?"

The little girl replied with a dismissive flip of the arm, as if the answer was just as clear as her presence before him. "My brother."

When she saw Chuck's eyes widen even more, she suddenly understood his incredulity and replied with what she assumed would have calmed him. "But don't worry; he comes much later in the future."

Chuck's eyes remained wide with shock. So he and Blair… would conceive two children in their lifetime together? Suddenly, he found himself drunk with confusion and ready to sit down with a bottle of amber and lay his worries to rest.

And yet, standing before his future child, the thought of drinking seemed a bit… debauched.

"I just… I just don't know what to say."

Some thread of honesty was all he could seem to muster.

The little girl rose a chocolate brow and looked down at him with slight annoyance. "Well, considering you should be off and begging for forgiveness at her feet…"

Chuck's eyes grew enormous at her words. Surely, his future daughter wasn't about to blame the entirety of the Chuck-Blair fiasco on… him?

"What are you talking about? She kept on going back to Nate when we were together!"

The little girl thrust her lip forward in a refusing gesture. "Well, now that Grandpa Bart died, she's been there for you! And you're just too stubborn to admit you need her!"

Having that same little girl refer to Bart Bass as a grandfather sent an eerie chill down Chuck's spine. However, he dismissed that thought and allowed a moment of silence, his voice dark and despondent as he spoke.

"She doesn't need me. She was doing fine on her own before we got together."

The little girl gazed back at him, her eyes full of sorrow that reminded Chuck of another brunette he had grown to adore.

"I think we both know that's not exactly true."

Chuck opened his mouth to speak, yet found no response to that statement.

Vivid memories of locked doors, flushed toilets, and running sinks overwhelmed his mind.

He listened to her soft voice interrupt the air.

"Sure, she's had some problems. But, strangely enough, when you guys get together, she doesn't need to hurt herself to feel better," she exclaimed, a sad smile etched upon her features.

Then, suddenly, a bright smile overwhelmed her, as if she had just solved the most epidemic problem on the planet. "It's why He's gonna give me to you, me and Tommy think."

Chuck's eyebrows furrowed a bit, and his dark eyes gazed at the child before him in slight wonder and amusement.

"So you guys just sit up there and… watch?"

The little girl smiled. "Well, we take bets. We yell at you guys while you hurt each other, we cry with you guys when you're so sweet with her."

Chuck couldn't help the smile that stretched across his features. To know that his future daughter and son were witnesses to the epic journey of Chuck and Blair brought a sense of enjoyment to him. He wondered what they had done when they had watched their first night together, beneath the hooded roof of his limousine one year ago.

And then, her voice dropped down to a mere whisper. "We've been waiting for you our entire lives."

Her voice seemed so sad and full of sorrow, Chuck felt an overwhelming need to hug the child. It amazed him how a few minutes ago, he was ready to throw a security guard at her.

And now, he found that this child was a perfect combination of he and Blair.

Smart, dismissive, haughty, and absolutely beautiful.

Vaguely, he knew that Blair would be proud.

"And when you are… are born… will you remember any of this?"

The little girl scoffed, rolling her eyes in laughter. "Of course not! Babies don't just wake up knowing how they were conceived, right?"

Chuck nodded slowly, a bit too overwhelmed to offer a response to a seemingly stupid question.

He continued to study her features. She stared back at him before she spoke.

"I know you're in love with her."

Chuck's voice became a bit raspy as he forced a smirk. "You're a smart girl."

The little girl smiled shyly, looking down at Chuck with slight wonder. "You know, the valedictorian gets picked today."

The unspoken suggestion hovered between them. He knew Blair would be absolutely frantic on this day; her entire academic career and future would lie on the decision that Constance would declare right before winter vacation.

If there was any time where he could show her he would be there, as she had shown him that fateful night, this would be it.

The dark eyes and porcelain features of his daughter continued to stare at him.

"God," he murmured, pressing his palms against the sides of her cheeks. He gasped slightly as his palms made contact with her frigid, but smooth, cheekbones. "You look exactly like her," he exclaimed, wonder lacing his voice. "I don't know how I couldn't have seen it before."

His heart ripped in his chest as her dark eyes filled with clear tears. "Daddy?"

When his palms lost the sensation of frigidness, and his eyes grew wide as her form grew airy, he found himself grasping at her body for her to stay.

"Please don't forget me," she whispered against the wind, her figure slowly evaporating into the air.

"And tell Mommy I love her."

And then, a whisper of butterfly wings floated by his ears, murmuring a broken set of syllables, as the air grew clear before his eyes, and the stranger disappeared with the wind.

"We love you too," he whispered to the air, his mouth struggling to form an unfamiliar name.

And when he breathed it into the air, his eyes shut blissfully.

"Audrey."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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