Disclaimer: Beginning taken largely from Jodi Piccoult's 'The Pact'.

Eleanor Waldorf glanced across at the man opposite her. Cyrus Rose had never made any secret of his admiration of her; it had taken eighteen months (and twice as many attempts on his part) to get her to agree to this one date.

Admittedly, she'd liked his sharp mind and tongue - he'd dealt with her divorce proceedings excellently. She couldn't have asked for a better lawyer. And it was flattering, really. And he made her laugh - in a way no man had. Not since Harold. After all, that was what had drawn her to her former husband in the first place. Cyrus had that same exuberance - and he challenged her, which she liked.

She also had to appreciate his taste in restaurants; the Italian he'd selected for tonight was most exquisite. And she found herself greatly enjoying his company. She was, for the first time in a long time, beginning to relax.

So when her phone rang, she was on the brink of ignoring it. Something Eleanor Waldorf almost never did. But really, she didn't want to be distracted from actually having a good time.

With an apologetic huff in Cyrus' direction - who merely chuckled and waved his hand, no problem - she pulled out the phone, ready to snap at Laurel to leave her alone. She blinked as she realised she didn't recognise the number; and, frowning, answered it.

"Hello?"

The voice at the other end was unknown and male - "Mrs. Waldorf? This is Officer Oliver of the NYPD. Your daughter has been injured, and she's being taken to Lenox Hill Hospital."

"Well, what did they say?" Lily asked frantically, as she pulled her coat on.

"That Charles was injured, and going to Lenox Hill." Bart's tone was curt as he pulled his own coat on, stiffly, jerking out of his rigid state. Almost on automatic, even as it felt like his blood had frozen.

Lily grabbed her bag, following him out of their penthouse and into the elevator. Their meal lay forgotten on the dining room table, barely finished and ready to be cleared away by the bemused house staff.

"Was there an accident?"

Bart didn't even seem to hear her. He was already striding ahead, barking orders to have the car brought around.

"Bart," Lily stressed, sliding into the leather seats next to him. "Did they say what happened?"

She tried to catch her husband's hand; he didn't notice.

"Not an accident," he answered at last, brusquely. "They didn't say."

He'd already been over all the possibilities in his head - drug overdose, alcohol abuse, bar fight, a deal gone wrong, perhaps - car accident?

He knew his son's reckless ways; but he'd always assumed Chuck was at least smart enough to stop anything truly dangerous happening to him. He'd had calls to pick the boy up from prison before (easily arranged and paid off) - but hospital?

He felt sick, right to his gut.

"You should call Serena," he managed. Harsh. "And Eric. Let them know what's happening."

Because if he didn't have some semblance of control, he didn't know what he'd do.

"Right," Lily was saying, numbly; pulling herself together too. "Of course."

Eric would be a lot easier than his sister - he was staying at Jonathon's. But Lily felt a little ill as she realised that she had no idea where Serena could be. 'Out' had been her daughter's vague, usual response before she flitted through the door in teetering heels and a tiny dress. Lily would assume with Poppy Lifton, since Serena was on her umpteenth 'break' with Nate, and Blair never went out on school nights -

Blair.

"Bart," Lily caught his sleeve. "Was he with Blair?"

That would be the usual assumption; if Chuck wasn't in, he was with her.

Bart just shook his head. Terse. He didn't know.

"Eleanor!" Lily stopped as she recognised the woman, calling across the ER waiting room to her.

Eleanor looked - for the first time that Lily had known her - a mess. Her heels echoed as she paced the tiled floor, her flawless make up unable to conceal how pale she was. Lily barely noticed the short man at her side, trying and failing to hold her together.

"Eleanor, what's going on?"

Eleanor lifted her hand to her hair. "I don't know," she answered, almost faintly. "Blair is -" Her eyes narrowed on Bart, then back to Lily - "Is Charles here too? Is he-"

"We were just told he was injured," Lily answered anxiously. Bart was already marching over to the reception, demanding to see his son and know what the hell was going on.

A doctor appeared at that moment. "Mrs. Waldorf?"

Eleanor's gaze shot up. "Yes?"

The look in the man's eyes had already set an icy lump of dread in her stomach.

"If you'd like to come with me."

Slowly, rigidly, Eleanor followed him.

Chuck was aware of lights above his head; of pain and voices, passing in a blur.

"...Seventeen year-old male, Charles Bass - multiple lacerations to the head, BP seventy over..."

There was more pain - "...Pupils dilated..."

And then a brighter light, flashed straight into his eyes - "Charles? Can you hear me, Charles?"

Chuck, he wanted to say. I'm Chuck Bass. Not Charles. But was he still Chuck Bass? There was something missing, he knew, some reason why he wasn't, why he couldn't be -

"...We need to get him into an OR, now..."

Then blackness. And nothing else.

"I don't understand."

Eleanor stared at the doctor before her.

"She was with Charles, wasn't she? Chuck Bass?" Her voice rose; "They were brought in together?"

"Yes," the doctor answered. "They were."

"I don't understand," she repeated, rigidly.

But what she meant was - how could Chuck be fine if Blair wasn't?

"I don't give a damn about procedure," Bart hissed. "I want to see my son. Now."

The nurse visibly cringed under his icy stare. "You will, Mr. Bass, just as soon as he-"

"I was told he would be out of the operating theatre by now. What is going on?"

"We're only-"

"Mr. Bass?" This was from an actual doctor this time; older and cleanly shaven, sharp green eyes. Someone who looked like he knew what he was doing. "Your son has been taken to a private room. He's lost some blood, but he's stable. He's going to be fine. He's unconscious for now, but you can come and see him."

Bart was already in action, sparing the doctor only a cursory glance. "Finally."

Lily shot the man an apologetic look as she followed her husband, remembering a polite thank you - a Rhodes woman never forgot her manners, after all.

They were taken through a series of corridors to the room; and once they got there, Bart had to stop.

Chuck was lying in the bed, unmoving, face white and eyes closed. The blood had been cleaned off him, but Bart could see that his hair was matted even from the doorway, a drip attached to his unnaturally still form.

He suddenly realised he was having difficulty breathing. That was his son.

Lily caught the half falter in his step. She reached for his arm; but he went stiff immediately, almost shaking her off. So she stayed silent, lump in her own throat as she gazed at her favourite stepson.

The doctor cleared his throat. "I'll give you some time. He should be coming around soon..."

They were interrupted by the chimes of Lily's phone - she pulled it out, distracted, to see Serena's name flash up. The doctor gave her a slightly disapproving look, and she remembered too late that cell phones weren't allowed in hospitals.

Bart seemed to snap out of a trance - his gaze flickered to the phone, too.

"You should take it. Tell her what's happening."

His eyes went straight back to Chuck. Fixed.

Lily apologized again and excused herself, with a last, fleeting glance at her husband and stepson.

"Ok, mom. I'll go pick Eric up - call me when you have more news."

Lily could hear the panic in her daughter's voice; she was just grateful that, for once, Serena actually sounded sober. And she'd actually picked up her phone.

Had Lily been thinking clearly, she might have questioned that - but now it was just a relief. Two of her children, at least, were safe.

"I will," she answered softly. "Love you."

She waited till Serena had hung up before doing the same. She breathed out, straightening her coat. She didn't know how she was supposed to deal with this - deal with Bart.

She suddenly caught a familiar voice.

"Just go, Cyrus!"

She turned to see Eleanor, standing at the exit, faced by the shorter man who'd been there earlier.

"You shouldn't be alone-"

"Eleanor." Lily was quick to approach them, reaching for the other woman.

"Lily." Eleanor's gaze was almost blank. That should have told her straight away that something was wrong. "What happened to Charles?" the Waldorf matriarch asked shortly, before Lily had a chance to say anything. "Is he all right?"

"He is," Lily assured her, relief surging through. "He's hurt, but he's stable now. He's going to be fine. Is Blair-"

"Blair's not hurt." Eleanor's voice was empty.

Lily closed her eyes. "Oh, thank God-"

"She'd dead."

Lily froze. She could only stare. "Wh..."

"A single gunshot wound to the head," Eleanor intoned. "Instant, apparently."

Lily's eyes widened in horror. "Gunshot?"

"I just had to identify her body." Eleanor let out a completely hollow laugh that sent a chill down Lily's spine. "You could barely even tell."

"But she was..."

"With Charles?" Eleanor's gaze finally fell on her, eyes burning. "Yes. She was."

Lily felt a little nauseous. "Eleanor, you can't seriously think-"

"Do you have to ring the father of your child," Eleanor hissed, "And tell him she's dead?" And, when Lily was silent; "No. I thought not. Now, if you'll excuse me."

The short man went to move after her, but she jerked free. "I said go away, Cyrus. I have things to do. Leave."

And with that, she disappeared.

Chuck still hadn't come round by the time Lily got back to the room; and Bart was standing exactly where she'd left him, upright, focused on what could only be Chuck's medical notes.

He glanced up briefly as she entered. "Are they all right?"

It took Lily a second to work out who he was talking about. Serena and Eric, of course. "They're fine." She swallowed. "Bart." Her voice was a little strangled.

He looked at her again. "What is it?"

"It's Blair," she whispered. "She..."

Bart's eyes had already narrowed with realisation; and there was a knock at the door.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bass?"

A middle aged man, smartly dressed, entered. "Detective Brown." He offered his hand. "I'm here to ask a few questions regarding your son and Miss Waldorf."

"Why?" Bart demanded sharply.

The man bowed his head, eyes flickering to the unconscious boy. "Perhaps we should take this outside."

"Perhaps you should tell us what this is about. Now." Bart's tone offered no room for argument, and the man sighed.

"I was called to the scene when they found Miss Waldorf's body. She was shot - and since your son was found with her, we need to investigate what exactly happened."

Bart's shoulders were tighter than Lily had ever seen them. "Well," he snapped, "We don't know any more than you do."

The detective merely pulled out a notebook. "Did your son tell you he was going out tonight?"

"No," Bart answered, curtly. "He never does."

"He doesn't need to," Lily amended. "He...well, he's seventeen. He's out most nights."

"So you had no idea where he was?" There wasn't surprise in the detective's voice, though; he was long accustomed to the lifestyle of Upper East Side brats.

Lily exchanged a swift glance with her husband. "If he was out anywhere, it probably would have been with Blair."

The detective nodded. "Did you know Blair Waldorf?"

"Yes," Lily swallowed. "I've known her since she was...a baby, really. So has Bart."

"And what relationship did she have with you son?"

"She was his girlfriend," Bart replied icily.

"They've known each other since kindergarten," Lily murmured. "They've been going out...what, three years now?"

"Four." Bart's voice was a brusque snap; Lily glanced at him in slight surprise. But he was silent, coldly regarding the detective.

"I'll need to talk to your son," Brown stated. "As soon as he wakes up."

"Detective," Lily attempted, frowning. "I'm sorry, but he's just been in surgery. You'll have to wait. And he doesn't even know about Blair yet." She shook her head, looking to Bart for support - "We can't just tell him, not like this. He loved her-"

The detective cut her off with a single shake of his head.

"He also may have shot her."

A/N I know I should really be working on 'Not Your Autumn Moon, I Am The Night' - but I was seriously inspired after reading 'The Pact'. So some people may not be very keen on this idea; a dead Blair is not exactly an uplifting start. I am in desperate need of a Chuck who actually adores her, though (the show is depressing me that much)...maybe this is punishment for that Chuck, heh.

And I realise I should seriously get my own ideas rather than stealing from books the entire time...but anyway. I did really, really love Jodi Piccoult's novel.

I promise my fic will have its own story, and not follow hers completely. This is Chuck and Blair, after all!

And there will be CB interaction. (Even if it is just in flashbacks).

So...let me know if I should continue? :)