AN: Thank you for all the reviews.

Part 2

Lying back on the pristine white sheets of the hospital, she looked like a frail waif, and a primitive possessiveness surged through him. When he entered the hospital room, his first thought was that maybe she was asleep. He wished she were asleep. He still did not know how to address her, address this.

This was completely beyond the level of maturity he thought he had grown into. There was nothing he could read up on to talk this through with her. She needed a professional. God, he needed a professional, he realized when his heart clenched.

But she had not been asleep. She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

"Waldorf," he said huskily, needing to get through to her, to know that the blank stare was not blank, needed to know she registered his presence there at the very least.

"I deserved it," she whispered, in a tone that told him that she had only just had the realization before he came in. "I deserved it for what I did to Serena."

And that he could not accept. "You don't get to decide that. We didn't deserve this, but we'll get through it." Involuntarily, his eyes fell to where her hand climbed up to rest on her empty belly. "I swear, Blair. We can recover." And he thought back to the beautifully furnished new room that she had only just had carpeted. It was yellow, because it was a happy, hopeful color, and neither of them yet wanted to settle on a blue or a pink.

"If I'd listened, if I had given her the time of day, she would probably be shopping for a room like that too, not…" Her breath hitched. "Gone."

He sat on her bed, and it dipped a little under his weight. Still, she did not turn to look at him. It was almost as if she could not bear the sight of him. "Whatever she did, whatever decisions she made, you have to know that she made them for herself."

She closed her eyes, and he saw the tears slip from their corners. "You don't understand," she breathed.

"Make me."

"I told her to go," she admitted. "Last month, she called me. She said she didn't want to go to Paris anymore. She wanted to stay here. But I was so busy with all the preparations—"

They were getting married in a month. Were. He knew there was no way they could do it now, with a dead of a stepsister and now, even heavier in his heart, this. They would be mourning this one for a long time. His hand closed over hers, just above the blanket. It was the contact, maybe. Or maybe it was that she was too introspective then, that his touch came as a surprise. Blair turned her palm over so that their fingers would intertwine.

"I remember it now. She sounded so urgent, and I was too involved with myself."

"What happened to Serena—" he began. "It wasn't your fault." The words sounded hollow even to him. "Serena had a life that went beyond yours, Blair. No matter how close you were, she had a life you didn't know about."

"And what if she wanted to confide in me? Finally. She could have called for help, Chuck."

"Stop doing this to yourself." The words came, and he meant them as a plea, but they sounded like a reprimand. Instantly, he recoiled with regret. Blame was the last thing she needed now.

"I'm sorry," was the reply, too quickly, thoughtlessly given, as if automatic.

"It's not your fault." She turned on her side, with her back to him, and he knew she had closed him off. His hand fell from her stomach to her hip now. Gently, he squeezed. "You can't ever blame yourself for living your life. She lived hers."

"When I told her about us, about it, she came home and brought me a silver rattle she got in Germany."

The silver rattle, engraved charmingly with 'S loves B's baby.' Tacky, but Blair had adored the tiny piece of precious metal. It sat atop the crib they needed to store away now. His father had warned him not to set up the nursery so early, but he had been on the top of the world that it was the farthest thing on his mind that anything could happen—least of all this. He had to make sure he kept that silver rattle now. When he brought her home, she was never to see that rattle. The nursery had to go. He needed to hire a man to paint over the walls. He needed to hire an entire crew to get it done on time. He would hire the same group who painted butterflies all over the walls.

"And when she called to tell me she wanted to stay in New York, I told her she would be insane to pass off on such a career-making job. And then I told her I had to hang up, because the caterers arrived with the samples." Her shoulders shuddered, and he climbed onto the bed behind her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, because this was how it started. And then she would never stop crying until she would be so exhausted the only thing possible was to drift off. "I deserve this."

And no matter how utterly selfish it was, it hurt him to hear her say it, as if she were the only one who got hurt. "No one deserves this," he repeated, and it became routine. He repeated the words, when what we wanted to say was that he did not deserve it. He lost a child too.

His stepsister was dead, and now, Blair was dying too. He could tell from the way she moved, she talked, from the way she breathed. She was dying even more slowly and painfully than Serena probably did, hopped up on drugs in a Parisian hotel room.

He had known, since the night they found out, that something was bound to happen. He had seen the shadows in the horizon as clearly as he saw the blank look in her eyes when she placed a long-stemmed white rose on the coffin. Every day he forced himself to live life the same way, so that Blair would get back onto her old routines, he waited.

When he arrived in the suite they shared, he pasted a large smile on his face. It wore on him, trying to be happy, trying to show her he was happy and unaffected. It gave him no chance to grieve himself, but every day he did it because he knew he would break her if he showed her how he really felt.

The suite was dark and quiet. Often he would come home to find her reading by the window, some fashion magazines that sold her thousands of dollars worth of accessories through a series of pictures. Or sometimes she would be curled on the couch, watching movies that degraded your brain. No one called her out. He did not dare offer advice. Once he suggested she take a walk in the park, and she had not spoken to him for a day.

"Blair!" he called out.

He saw the bridal magazines on the coffeetable, and wondered if she was also imagining what it would have been like if it happened—the wedding they had scheduled for that very day. Chuck switched on the lights. He had been watching Blair since the day Serena died, and it was that which made him run. He closed the distance from the front door to the bedroom, and did not sigh in relief when he found the bed empty. Instead, his gaze slammed to the bathroom door. He quickly strode towards it and placed his hand on the knob.

"Blair!" he yelled, and heard only water running. "Open the door, Blair!" With trembling fingers, he reached for the key that he kept in his jacket pocket now. He inserted the key and turned the knob.

And the sight was going to be burned in his memory forever. There she was in her nightgown, sitting on the floor, right by the toilet. He adored that nightgown, and he noted the edges soaked in dark blood, the same blood the pooled around her on the floor. The same blood that stained her thighs. Her face was tear-streaked, and her cheek was blood-stained, and he knew she had tried. He knelt in front of her, and saw that her lips had turned a tinge of blue, her eyes glassier than usual.

"Everything will be alright, Blair," he said calmly, completely in contrast to the rapid thundering in chest. He lifted her in his arms and murmured, "You'll be fine."

She laid her head on his shoulder. "I think I'm dying," she whispered into the crook of his neck.

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

Her eyes fluttered, and the flush of her skin was pale and gray. He recognized the sign as loss of blood. "Do you think Serena's trying to call me?"

He made his way to the door, then straight to the elevator without grabbing anything. His wallet was still in his pocket, and any identification card he had was bound to be enough to get her the best care possible. "She couldn't have been," was his answer as they waited for the elevator doors to open to the lobby. He kissed her cheek where the blood and the tears have dried.

"I think she is," she shared faintly. "I heard her before you came."

"Blair," he said hurriedly. "Do me a favor. When she calls again, tell her you can't go."

"What will I say?"

The doors opened, and Chuck stepped out with her in his arms. "The limo," he snapped at the bellboy, who immediately rushed to the concierge to call on the Bass driver. Trained by many mishaps, and outbursts from when the Bass heir was still a child, the limo arrived in barely a minute. He settled inside with Blair, and did not need to give directions to the hospital. "Blair, tell her you and I have plans, okay?" he whispered into her hair. "If Serena calls again, if she asks you to go with her, you tell her you and I have plenty of plans."

Dan held out her robe to her. Blair took the proffered clothing and slipped into it. Quickly, she moved to the closet and pulled out her bag, then tossed it to Dan. "Pack up," she commanded.

"What?"

"Pack up," Blair repeated. "We are getting out of here."

Dan dropped the bag on the floor. Blair narrowed her eyes and snatched the bag, then pushed it back into his hands. "Pack up, Dan!"

"I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on. We've been working on this for six months," cried out the frustrated journalist. "We're this close to cracking the case. This is worthy of national broadcast."

She shook her head. "I don't care about your story, Dan. That not why I'm here."

"You're right. You're here because of Serena. And that hasn't changed," he said slowly. Dan stepped over to Blair and rubbed her upper arms. "I know you have the hard part of this job. It can't be easy doing that. But this is the only way in, Blair."

She moved away from him, then hastily picked out clothes. Six months they had been working so closely together, and they had reached the point when she could change in front of him. "It's not that. I've gotten used to it."

"Right," he added. "You don't feel a thing." He could call her bullshit right then, but he did not. He needed her to finish this, because there was no way he would be able to do it on his own.

She glared at him, the way she always did when she could hear the judgment in his voice. "Exactly."

"Then why would you suddenly change your mind?"

There was a knock on the door. Blair whirled around and her jaw dropped. She had sworn the boxer kept Chuck at bay. "Oh God!" Blair pushed at Dan's shoulders. "Go!"

Dan stumbled towards the bathroom door, and Blair pulled the door shut. She tied the belt of her robe, then called out, "Come in."

She held her breath and saw the hostess of the club standing outside. "Jane!" she gasped. "It's you. I'm so happy to see you. For a minute there, I thought—"

"Blair, there's someone I'd like you to meet." She froze. Blair held her breath. Then a figure stepped out of the shadows. And then, for the first time in fifteen months, her nightmare and fantasies confronted her head on. While her heartbeat thundered in her ears, Jane continued speaking, "Charles Bass. He's buying the club, and he wants to meet the star!"

She took deep breaths to steady herself. She felt as if all the blood had suddenly left her, and she grabbed at a chair. Blair hoped that Jane did not noticed anything amiss, because she did not need questions right now.

"Jane, is it?" came his smooth, quiet voice. Blair almost closed her eyes at the pleasure of hearing that voice again. "Will you leave me alone with Blair?"

"Oh. Mr Bass," the hostess stammered. "I don't know what Allan said, but this isn't that kind of club. Our stars don't—"

"Jane, I need to be alone with Blair," Chuck repeated more firmly. Jane threw a helpless look at Blair, as if asking for permission. "Tell her it's fine, Blair."

Blair swallowed, then gave an imperceptible nod, sending Jane scurrying out of the room. "What do you want?"

"Where's Humphrey?"

She drew a sharp breath. "Dan Humphrey? Why would he be here?"

"You know you can't lie to me." He glanced at the bathroom door, then smirked. "Fine. You want to do this with him listening in?" He stepped close to her, so close she could feel his hard, angry breathing. "What the hell are you doing stripping in this kind of place?"

Blair closed her eyes, because even the smell of him was too heady to take. "I don't see why it should matter to you what I do with my life."

"You never did," he said.

"Just leave, Chuck. This isn't a good investment."

He shook his head. "If I doubted this place for even one moment, you made up my mind for me the moment you stood there and took off your clothes." She moved away, and he watched silently as she shrugged on a tank top and a pair of jeans. For the life of him, he had never seen her wear a pair of jeans before that very day. "What happened to you?"

"Life," was the simple answer.

"Is it about the money, Blair?" he whispered. God, he did not even think about money. He had always just assumed that she had plenty to go on. It wasn't as if it would matter to him. It just—it was never part of the equation.

She recoiled, as if slapped. "Where do you go off asking questions?" she demanded.

"Tell me how—why—what the hell possessed you to do this? I've been looking for you for more than a year, Blair." He shook his head in disbelief. "This would have been the last place I'd have come to look."

She smiled grimly at him. "You lost the right me anything about my life the day you left me, Chuck."

He set his jaw, and felt her words like a punch into his gut. "I made you do this?" he said softly.

She gave a humorless laugh. "You don't affect me that much. Not anymore."

"There was a time I did."

"Right," she said, as if recalling as distant memory. "I begged you to stay, and you threw me away."

She was dead; and she was killing him every day.

It was the day Chuck never thought would come. Days turned to months, and she killed everything she touched. The day their baby died, he had known that life together would be a test to him. And he had never been good at tests. It was no surprise that he would fail this one too. This would have been the most important test of all. Could he save her? Could he make her want to save herself? Could he keep two people afloat when one was so determined to sink?

It was the most emotion she had shown him since the day Serena died.

Unfortunately for them, it hadn't been enough.

"Don't leave me," was her response.

He told her about his decision in the living room of their suite. Heaven knows he would not be able to do it in the bedroom, because that was where they were when they found out Serena died, and that bed held the happiest moments of their time together. The bedroom was in full view of the bathroom, and he shuddered still to remember the night he found her there.

The tiles have been cleaned, and even then he had to have the hotel retile the entire room. And still he thought he saw bloodstains on the floor.

"I can't watch you barely live, Blair. I didn't fall in love with this."

Her liquid eyes pulled him in, as if they were whirlpools, and he felt himself respond. But he needed to be strong, because they would not survive if he allowed himself to drown in her.

"I'm doing this for you."

"Then you're a coward," she sobbed.

"I'm not going to change my mind, Blair," he said slowly, the hardest sentence he ever uttered.

Right in front of him, he saw her crumble. Her stance relaxed, and she stepped forward and clutched at his shirt. "No. No, Chuck, you can't leave me now."

He pulled her hands away from his shirt. "Tell me you'll let this go, and we will move on with our lives." She met his eyes, and he could tell, by the way she searched his expression, that she was looking for a way out. "Promise me, Blair. Promise me we'll move on with our lives."

Instead of the words he needed, the words he had to wait for, he heard nothing but the mewling sounds she made as she sank to her knees in front of him. "Chuck, if you leave me now, then I'm done."

He bent and placed a kiss on her head. "If I don't, then I'm done. I love you, Blair."

"You don't get to act like this," she told him. "Like you're a long suffering lover that I abandoned. Never forget, Chuck, because I know I never will."

"I did it for us."

She continued, as if she never heard him. "You left me, not the other way around." Blair took a breath to strengthen her resolve. "Now go."

For a moment, it seemed he would not leave, and she was afraid that a few seconds more, she was going to break. He finally walked out of her door, and she prayed he would get out and never come back. But she knew Chuck Bass the same way she knew herself, and Blair knew to expect him the next night.

The bathroom door opened and closed, and Dan back into the room. She could feel his gaze on the back of her head, and she tried to ignore him.

"Did I destroy your life, Blair?" was his question.

It was a question she was not ready to answer, not even to hear. "Of course not," she answered, turning to face him. "You gave me a purpose, Dan."

The answer satisfied him, and he sighed. Dan walked up to her and enfolded her in his arms.

tbc