When Blair hears the penthouse elevator ding at quarter to three, she jumps, not expecting company and knowing full well that her husband rarely leaves the office before or after five o'clock.
"Dorota!?" She calls, thinking it might be the maid, even though it's her day off.
She gets no answer, but hears the unmistakable thud of someone crashing on the couch. She thinks it might be Nate, probably stoned after a hard day at The Spectator.
Steading her breathing, she struggles to push herself out of bed and starts down the spiral staircase. Nowadays, everything seems to be a struggle. She's only just begun to show, but sixteen weeks into her pregnancy and she's already had a rough go of it. Between morning sickness, cravings, and aches pretty much everywhere on her body, she's been bed-ridden more often than not.
The doctor said not to worry, that some women have harder pregnancies than others, that she might suffer because of her petite frame. Still, that didn't stop her husband from staying up late at night to make sure she was comfortable, and waking up early in the morning to hold her hair back while she got sick, and trying to convince her that he could stay home from work, and texting her every half hour after she convinces him that he can't put his responsibilities at Bass Industries on the back burner every time she has so much as a headache. She thinks he might be having a harder time than she is. The guy's a wreck, and she can't figure out exactly why.
When she gets downstairs, she finds him on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, visibly clenching every muscle in his body. It's discerning to say the least. She always feels sick when he gets distraught like this; it reminds her of their teenage years when they suffered so much at each other's hands (or away from each other's hands), although they've both been so happy recently. She just doesn't know what's wrong.
She walks over to him silently in bare feet, shivering a little as the air conditioner hits her body, clad in nothing but a two piece pajama set featuring a tight top that now hugs her baby bump.
"Chuck," she whispers as she wraps her arms around him. His head finds her shoulder, as it always does.
"Did something happen at work?"
For a second, he just clutches at her arm, steadying himself.
"Chuck…"
"I'm so worried about you, Blair," he blurts out.
"Is that what this is about? Chuck, I'm perfectly fine. Just normal pregnancy symptoms. It's really nothing for you to come rushing home over. Definitely not worth ruining your hair for."
He's started running his fingers through his carefully styled locks, flattening them out and making him look infinitely younger.
"I needed to see you."
"Well, you did a pretty shitty job, Bass. Didn't even make it upstairs."
She tries to lighten the mood, but his eyes cut into hers and she knows that he's deadly serious.
"I needed to know you were okay. I thought that maybe… maybe something happened to you…. or… or to the baby."
"What could have happened to me, Chuck? I stayed home today, didn't I? I'm taking care of myself and our child. You don't need to worry."
"What could have happened!? Blair! Anything could have happened! Any number of things! You could miscarry! You could die, for God's sake! You could die giving birth to my child and it would be my fault all over again!"
They're both momentarily stunned into silence by his half-insane confession. He's worried she might not survive giving birth. Or that she'll lose the baby. It's not entirely unprecedented…
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"
"Oh, Chuck, why didn't you say something earlier? If this is about the last time I was pregnant, or your mother, you know…"
"I know nothing! All I have is a picture of a pregnant lady dated from around my birthday. It means nothing. It's not proof I didn't kill my mother. And if… if something happens to you… I know I'd never forgive myself. It would be a thousand times worse."
"Nothing is going to happen. The doctor says I'm in perfect health and so is the baby. You can't let this consume you."
"Even if you are! Even if the baby is born and you're still healthy… then what? We have a child? We can't have a child, Blair! How are we supposed to raise a kid? I can't be a father!"
He propels himself off of the couch, but she catches his hand and pulls him back down.
"Relax, Chuck," she commands.
He's still tense, breathing erratically, practically shaking.
"Come here," she says in a softer voice, tugging on his shoulders and guiding his head into her lap.
She runs her fingers through his hair until she feels him deflate. They stay like this for so long she thinks he might have fallen asleep, but then he stirs and shoots off the couch and starts pacing again and she's staring into those deep brown eyes that she's loved since she was a teenager and feeling just as lost trying to save him as she did way back then.
"How am I supposed to be a father, Blair?"
She doesn't even know where to start this time. She should have seen this breakdown coming. Now that it's happening, she's surprised he didn't implode sooner. Chuck Bass has more daddy issues than half of the call girls on the Upper East Side combined. Not to mention that from his "mother" and uncle, all he knows is that family equals manipulation and pain. And now he's about to have a child of his own.
"Will you love our child?"
"Blair, don't be ridiculous."
"I'm being serious. Will you love our child?"
"Of course!"
"Then that's how. That's all that matters. You'll love this little guy with all your heart, and you'll be a fantastic father."
She knows she's succeeding in talking him down when he sits down next to her and takes his hand.
"You always know what to say," he tells her. "Our child is gonna have the best mom ever."
"Our son," she corrects him.
"Wh-what? I thought we were gonna wait to find out the sex!"
She bats her eyelashes and looks up at him with her most innocent look, the one that always gets her out of a little trouble where he's concerned. He melts a little and she knows he's already forgiven her.
"I couldn't wait," she says bashfully. "I called the doctor earlier today."
"We're having a boy," he says, a little stunned.
She nods and then he's kissing her so passionately she practically forgets her own name and doesn't remember it again until she's panting his, tugging at his belt and begging him to make her come. She whines when his hands stop their movements up her thighs, and she writhes against him as they frame her face. He always worries that they're gonna hurt the baby when they have sex.
"Blair, are we sure this is safe?" He asks predictably.
"It might be unsafe if we don't."
"For who?" He asks, flashing his signature smirk, finally coming back into himself.
"For you, of course," she says, raking her nails through his hair with more force than she usually applies.
"Well then I better give the lady what she wants."
He has her naked in record time, and he doesn't freak out about being a father for an entire week after that.