So, I must clarify something: I'm not a huge Gossip Girl fan. I'm just madly in love with Chuck and Blair, and after watching 2x13 the idea of writing a fanfic for them seemed really appealing...

So, I actually sat my ass down and wrote this first chapter. Please be kind, this is my first GG fanfic and my second fanfic in English (I'm from Argentina).

I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for the ones you can't recognise from the show.

Chapter I

Chuck had really planned on disappearing from the Upper East Side and never returning again. What was the point in trying to pretend everything was alright when he had hurt everyone he cared for?

Chuck found a hard time trying to forget the look of sheer disappointment and sadness in Eric's eyes when he yelled at him that they weren't related. Eric, apart from Blair, was the only person around who had trusted him completely, and confessed his most disturbing secrets to him without fearing they will become the hottest scoop for Gossip Girl. He really did care for the boy, and he regretted the way in which he had treated him. He deserved better.

And so did Blair. Why would Blair Waldorf want to be with him, of all people? A little bitter orphan who didn't have the guts to confess to his love for her? He walked out in the middle of the night, still longing for the comfort of her warm, cushy embrace, as the cold Manhattan air hit his face, like Lily's hand when she slapped him, only hours ago. He felt lonely, isolated, miserable, neglected, and guilty. Guilty for his parent's death, guilty for having spoken to Lily like that, guilty for everything that had happened.

Everyone had tried to contact him since he had left, from Blair to that hideous Daniel Humphrey, but he had deliberately chosen not to answer any of their calls, not willing to provide them with any information on his whereabouts. He almost wished he would die, but he didn't have the courage to do that himself. So, he just spend his days laying in a haze of smoke, gulping Scotch as water and pretending the rest of the world didn't exist.

Until that one letter from his uncle arrived. He was the only one who knew where he was hidden. Like his departed brother, he was also into hiring PIs and keeping track of his family members' movements and actions.

He opened the envelope while sitting on his hotel bed.

So, Lily had given birth to a Bass girl. Victoria Charlotte Bass. A pompous, ridiculous name for a creature that had arrived into the world under the most unpleasant circumstances. She was to be baptised within two weeks, and his presence was required. He ought to meet his sister and officiate as her Godfather. What did they think? That he was going to fly home just because they wanted him to be someone's Godfather? Why hadn't they chosen Rufus or even Daniel, who would teach the spawn honest habits and surely suit Lily's taste better than a Bass?

Because it was clear Lily preferred Humphreys to Basses. He rose from the bed and headed towards the bathroom, his footsteps shaky, unsteady. He looked at himself in the mirror, the dark circles around his eyes, his dilated pupils and strikingly prominent cheekbones. He was thinner than before, and he appeared at least ten years older; his life had been a downward spiral to self destruction ever since he had left New York.

He closed his eyes firmly, trying to dissipate the massive head ache he was suffering due to the effects of the huge amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before. Even the dim light coming from the bulb was bothering him, his eyes over sensitive to any form of illumination- - he had never felt like this before. Despite his reputation as a bad-nearly alcoholic-boy, his drunkenness seldom ended up in such pathetic conditions. Only one or twice had he really out limited his levels of tolerance, but it was easily fixed by ingesting coffee and mac and cheese and several visits to the bathroom.

He knew no matter how hard he tried, even if he eventually cleaned his system from any trace of alcohol, the oppressing feeling of emptiness, meaninglessness in his chest would not go away easily. Maybe it was to accompany him during his entire life, colouring his days with a dark shadow of hollowness and gloom. Memories of his father haunted him. The last words they had said to each other, face to face, still hurt. Chuck also knew his father had not meant them to be his goodbye words, but still… he had made one stupid mistake letting Eric have a look at those files, and he was condemned to ostracism by his own progenitor?

What he hated the most was the fact that he never had the chance to explain himself. His father just walked away whenever he felt the conversation was over, when he considered he had made himself clear, always leaving him without a chance to reply to his frequently unfair accusations. And to think that just days before he passed away there had been a small chance of bonding with him, a prospect of communion, a glimmer of hope to an acceptably healthy father and son relationship… how innocent of him, to believe things could actually get better between them. His death had only resumed the impossibility of a connection with him. And he had loved him, dearly, admired him, aspired to be like him in the near future. He recalled lonely nights at his room, when he was about ten, daydreaming about his future as a successful businessman, and wishing his father would just notice the effort he was making in order to get his approval. Even when he was a young boy his own daddy had disliked him. And it wasn't like he had paid a great deal of attention to his son, either. After several efforts, he just accepted the fact that his father was never going to be fond of him, and just quitted. He stopped trying to impress him, trying to demonstrate he was witty and capable, following his rules… he was about twelve when he made that decision.

He washed his face, rubbing his palms against his cheeks as though willing to rip the skin out with every movement. The drops of cold water tickled the exposed skin of his neck, causing him to shiver ever so slightly. He gripped the edges of the washbasin, the nippy porcelain cool to the touch, and lowered his head.

Going to that baptism meant having to give explanations, having to sit right next to Blair and Eric, having to speak to Lily. In a way, he wanted to apologise to her for having been so… rough towards her. It was simpler, blaming her for his father's death, instead of blaming himself. It had taken him months to accept the fact that no one could be blamed for the accident. Not even the weather. It was a fatal combination of circumstances what had caused Bart Bass' decease, and not the fact that Lily was dancing with that horrid Rufus person, or the fact that he had called him. He resented her for being in love with another man instead of his father, for having lied to him when she accepted his proposal, for having created the false illusion of a family and almost tricked him into believing he was a part of it. But still, he had burned the evidence of her mistakes, allowed the hate and bitterness towards her burn along with those files.

And then, Blair. How on earth was he going to confront her, to sit next to her? She had been… so astoundingly compassionate towards him. He had treated her horribly, and yet she still found it in her heart to forgive him and speak those three conflictive words out loud. And she had been so disappointed, so frustrated when he couldn't just say them back and let her in. And that night, when he had barged into her mother's wedding… Only in the safe enclosure of her arms had he felt tolerably good, or not that miserable. He recalled her faint Dior scent, the smoothness of her creamy skin, the way in which she had held him, tightly, in a desperate attempt to ease all his pain away… God, he loved her. But he couldn't even bring himself to say it. He knew they wouldn't last, he knew he'd eventually hurt her. It had never occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, he had made to many assumptions. He was so certain it wouldn't work between them that he had just given up on her as a girlfriend, trashed every possibility of a long lasting relationship, without even giving it a try. The outcomes may have surprised him.

He wanted to speak to her, to explain himself, to see her again…

That little girl was the last thing, apart from his fortune, Chuck himself and a few broken hearts, that his father had left on this Earth. Wouldn't he disapprove of him not attending the ceremony? Of course he would. It was odd, finding himself trying to comply an absent father who could no longer judge his actions (for good or for bad) and whose authority he had defied uncountable times—what had aroused that dreamlike sense of duty he had never experienced before? Maybe he was too drunk to keep his M.O. stable. Maybe he did care for the people around him, though he was willing to show the exact opposite to the rest of the world.

He was going to the baptism.

That was the last thought that crossed his mind as he rushed to the toilet and emptied his intoxicated stomach of its almost inexistent contents.

I am inclined to believe that Chuck's a bit out of character, so I will gladly accepy your constructive criticimn (assuming someone will actually read this fic) and suggestions. The first chapter is basically a character study on Chuck and his relationship with his father, Blair and the Van der Woodsens, so it might get a little boring. I promise you the next chapters will be more enjoyable.