A/N Same old song and dance. Not mine. Not in any way meant to disrespect those who survived the horrific events of 9/11. Please take a quick moment to let me know your thoughts!

The blood would not come off his hands. He'd scrubbed them in water so hot they'd nearly cooked, for so long and hard his own blood had threatened to spill, but still it remained. It clung to his nails and dyed his palms; the creases his fortune teller mother use to call his 'life lines' stained darker and redder its neighbors. Life marred by death; too poetically fitting for words.

He gave up his useless actions; he'd be dawning milky latex gloves for the rest of the mission anyway. And nobody would be suspicious of a little blood on a Good Samaritan's hands at a time like this.

The clock read 5:25 p.m. By his calculations the virus would already have spread to the central and eastern states and be heading west quickly. By midnight the entire country would be infected, by sunrise; the entire continent.

His thing lips parted in a malicious smile, his cold eyes glinted in the tiny bathroom mirror.

Everything was going according to plan. He'd even been able to mask the virus as a chemical agent. It would take them hours, maybe days to figure out their mistake. And by then there wouldn't be enough soft tissue left on poor "Gill" to figure it out, let alone anybody left alive to care.

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

"Sir," Arthur spoke calmly as oxygen masks rained from the ceiling, "If I may make a suggestion?"

"You may not," Chuck growled dangerously, grabbing for a yellow mask.

"But Mr. Bass –" Arthur attempted again.

"What do you want now, Arthur?" Chuck barked, snapping his mask roughly into place.

"The briefcase, Sir." Arthur replied simply, pointing a gnarled finger under the seat to Chuck's left.

Chuck eyed Arthur warily. His face was carved from stone; expressionless and unreadable. Chuck didn't like it. The man made him uneasy. The briefcase was too important to entrust negligently to a man like Arthur. It was the key to everything, the key to her.

He placed the silver case carefully in the older man's hands, and pinned him with a lethal glare, "Guard it your with your life."

Arthur nodded solemnly; "With all our lives, Sir."

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

There was something cold and hard under Blair's back. And something was covering both her mouth and her nose; making it difficult to breath.

"I wouldn't take that off just yet if I were you." She'd been hoping maybe he'd just been a dream; the annoyingly handsome and arrogant doctor. No such luck. He was real and sitting with his back to her, a white lab coat clinging to his broad shoulders.

"This is getting old – waking up to a nightmare with the grim reaper looming over me." He turned his head a fraction of an inch to acknowledge her comment. She heaved a heavy sigh, annoyed.

You'll want to leave that on," he repeated, his attention before him again as she wiggled her nose under what looked to be a surgeon's mask

"Good thing you're not me," She replied icily, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position on the cold, hard something she now realized was a makeshift examination table.

His chair groaned angrily as he spun to face her, "I said leave it."

His tone was ice, stalling her good arm in its quest to free herself from the surgical mask. Was she was wearing latex gloves too? "What the hell is all this?" she demanded, waving a gloved hand emphatically at the mask covering half her face.

"A necessary precaution," he shrugged, turning back to his desk to fiddle with a microscope.

"Against what, exactly?" Blair huffed, irritated, "You?"

He didn't react to her barb in the slightest. She stuck her tongue out at the back of his sandy head, nearly liking the inside of her mas, and rubbed the scratchy mask vigorously against her face.

"Is this your lair?" She spat, attempting to rile the good doctor into responding as she took in her surroundings. They were in a room no bigger than her foyer closet. And by the smell of it everything had been bleached a horrible off white.

"Hospital." He answered curtly, still fiddling intently with his precious microscope.

"I'm supposed to believe this," she swept a skeptical look around the tiny room, "is a hospital?"

"Believe what you want, Princess." He shrugged. Something about the way he said 'Princess' made Blair's spine stiffen. It reminded her entirely too much of another arrogant ass she preferred to pretend didn't exist.

"Don't call me that," she snapped crossly.

He didn't respond and she cocked her head to the side, contemplating him curiously.

This was not the same arrogantly handsome and charming – in a completely and totally beneath her sort of way – man who'd pulled her from a burning building. He seemed… colder, somehow.

"Will you quit playing with that thing and talk to me!?" Blair demanded, unnerved and irritated by his silence.

"This thing just might save your life," He growled, his focus never leaving the microscope, "Unless daddy dearest can flash his gold card and turn back time."

"What the hell is your problem?!" Blair exploded, vaulting from the table and spinning his chair around to face her.

"My problem?! MY problem?" Jonathan yelled, pushing to his feet; his chair crashing to the floor. "Take a look outside, Princess." He jabbed the air violently with a gloved finger, his own surgical mask bouncing widely against his angry mouth, "This is it. This is the end. We're being bombed for Christ sake! Bombed! And all you can think about is how the mask clashes with your Dolce!"

"You arrogant son of a–"

And then strong arms were hauling her back up onto the examination table roughly, the beguiled mask pushed violently from her face, reckless lips crushing hers aggressively.

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

Chuck couldn't feel his legs. He knew they were there, still attached to his body. But he couldn't feel them.

"Arthur!" He yelled into the dark cabin, choking on the thick black smoke around him, "Arthur!"

The outline of Arthur's tailored suit and grey hair appeared through the smoke to his right, "Sir?"

"Status report!" Chuck demanded, attempting to unbuckle himself from his seat. His hands wouldn't reach down to his waist and he realized he wasn't sitting upright in his seat, but instead was pinned awkwardly on his side between the cabin wall and something extremely heavy.

"Jeffries appears to have suffered only minor lacerations," Arthur responded methodically, "Brennan and the rest of the crew are unfortunately deceased."

"Fuck!" Chuck swore viciously, "Are you injured?"

Arthur merely shook his head.

"And the briefcase?" Chuck demanded, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Arthur raised a tawny arm, the briefcase swaying slightly at the movement.

Chuck bucked against the heavy metal object pinning him in place, and roared: "Then get me the fuck out of here before the God damn plane explodes!"

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

Jonathan jumped back as if she'd burnt him, "I'm sorry. That was completely out of line."

"Yes. It was." Blair nodded her agreement, shimming her skirt back down her thighs as he paced the short length of the room.

His feet stilled abruptly, "You're quite the piece of work, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" Blair arched an eyebrow, jamming an irate right hand against her hip.

"You know," he drawled, righting the chair that had suffered his outburst, "You still would have had my help if you'd told me you were married; I'm a doctor, it's my duty. You didn't have to whore yourself out for it; pretending to be a Miss instead of a Mrs."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Blair cried, confused.

"You talk in your sleep." Jonathan crossed his arms against his chest, "Do you want to tell me about the old bail and chain now? Chuck?"

"W-wha?" She reeled at his name, falling from the table.

And found herself in the good doctor's arms again; his hands no longer quite as vicious, his eyes a paler shade of hazel instead of the crueler green. He cradled her against him, mindful of her injured shoulder as he lifted her back up to her perch atop the examination table.

It dawned on her then.

He was jealous.

Leave it to her to get rescued by a handsome, charming, arrogant, and jealous ass of a doctor. And dammit if she didn't have a soft spot for arrogantly charming, handsome asses.

"Ex-fiancé," Blair stated simply, hissing in pain as she attempted to shrug off the statement.

"You're going to be sore for a while," Jonathan smiled a small smile apologetically, slipping her blouse from her left shoulder to examine her, "I set it while you were out. Gave you a shot of morph for the pain but it's probably wearing off."

"Thank you," Blair's answering smile was small and appreciative.

Jonathan nodded, clearing his throat awkwardly when his gaze lingered on her ruby lips.

Blair's hand flew to her mouth and she gasped. "My mask! You said not to take it off!"

"Yet," Jonathan corrected, a smile still tugging at his lips, "I said not to take it off yet. If you'd given me the chance to explain, I could have told you it was only until I checked your blood for contamination."

Blair noticed the tiny cotton ball stuck in crook of her left elbow with a band aid. "Contamination?" she asked, raising worried eyes to his.

He nodded, "Radiation, from the blast. You're clean," He tugged her blouse back into place and pulled two little, blue pills from the pocket of his lab coat, "and these should help keep you that way." He held them out to her. "We don't need the mask anymore," he added when she only stared at him skeptically.

She finally took them from his palm, "Thank you."

He nodded and turned to fish a bottle of water out of one of the white cupboards.

She studied his back, contemplating whether or not to she should apologize.

"It's ok, apology accepted." He quipped, catching her eye as he turned to hand her the bottle, "You were terrified and hurt... And I acted like a jealous prick."

"I didn't apologize." She pointed out, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning as she accepted the water from him.

He winked, "You were going to."

She laughed despite herself.

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

"Sir?" Came Arthur's muffled voice from somewhere behind and to Chuck's right.

"Yes?" Chuck ground out through clenched teeth. The black smoke was getting thicker, and he could smell burning…everything. "Is Jeffries clear of the wreck, Arthur?" Chuck asked suddenly when the acrid smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils.

"He refuses to disembark without you," Arthur's voice became clearer as he moved to stand in front of Chuck, "This may be rather painful. I apologize but it must be done."

Chuck merely nodded and screwed his eyes shut as the old man braced his palms against the something that Chuck suspected was the heavy, metal exit door and pushed.

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

"I'm going with you." Lily stated, hands on her hips.

"Mom, we went over this." Eric shook his head and sighed emphatically, "Somebody needs to stay here in case she comes here or the lines go back up."

Lily glared at her only son, "Then you stay. I'm going."

"Mom. No." Eric stepped quickly into her path and grabbed her shoulders, "You have to stay. I'll be fine. I have Bart's old satellite phone and we both have a walkie. I'll talk to you the whole way, I promise. It'll be fine."

"You don't have to do this, Eric." Lily lips quivered as she spoke, tears beginning to stream down her pale cheeks.

"It's Serena," He said simply.

Lily nodded shakily, understanding. "But we don't even know where she was when the attacks started. How are you going to find her?"

Eric pulled his mother into a fierce hug, "I don't know. But I will."

Lily squeezed him back tightly and a tiny sob escaped her.

"Mom. She'll be fine. I'll be back before you know it. I promise"

Lily nodded tearfully and Eric turned to leave.

"Wait!" Lily cried out suddenly, "I just remembered! She called while I was in the shower this morning! I let it got to voicemail! Maybe there is something in the background that will tell us where she was around the time the bombings started!"

She rushed through the penthouse, her silk robe billowing behind her like a cape. "Here! Listen!" she called out eagerly as the raced back into the foyer, her cell phone to her ear.

"What is it?" Eric needed to know, his breathing coming in short shallow gasps, "What is she saying?"

"She's drunk. I don't think she knew she was calling." Lily panted her eyes wide with hope, "I can hear Blair. I think they're in a Starbucks somewhere… no, on the corner of Fifth and East 75th! I can hear that snotty bitch of a waitress taking their orders."

Eric nodded. That he could work with. He kissed his mother's free cheek before turning to leave.

"Hold on," Lily's arm shot out to stop him, "There's more. It's faint, but I think she had a fight with Dan."

Eric shrugged, "Explains the drunkenness. But doesn't give us much else…"

"It gives us everything." Lily corrected, pushing the end button and grabbing Eric's hands, "If you had a huge fight with Derek before the end of the world hit, what would you do?"

"So she started off on Fifth and 75th and would have moved heaven and earth to get to Dan in Harlem." Eric squeezed his mother's hands once, attempting to reassure her. "That narrows it down to about ohhh, only about 75 blocks or so."

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

"Hurry up! Jesus!" Jeffries screeched as he ran into the passenger's cabin, arms flailing, "They'll be coming any minute!"

"Help Mr. Bass up," Arthur waved Jeffries over with a steady hand.

Chuck groaned in pain as they hefted his weight onto their shoulders. His legs were tingling and feeling – mostly a searing pain – was returning quickly.

"Arthur," Chuck dissolved into a coughing fit as smoky black fingers wound their way around his neck. "…briefcase…" he managed to choke out as the trio tumbled from the wreck into dwindling daylight.

Arthur nodded briefly and disappeared back into the fiery jumble of twisted metal.

Dragging in blissfully oxygenated breaths, Chuck eyed Jeffries suspiciously, "Brennan's dead. Tell me where we landed. Now."

Jeffries gulped nervously, "Cook County Jail." He rushed on when Chuck's expression turned murderous, "It was the only strip of land long enough to set down on within a thousand miles of New York. If we hurry the inmates – "

"I don't think the inmates will be a problem, Jeffries." Chuck cut him off, his attention directed over his shoulder at the quiet building in the distance.

Jeffries looked between the prison and Chuck, confused.

"Fucking Christ." Chuck swore vigorously, realizing the implications of his own words, "It made it this far already… they've altered it. "ARTHUR! Briefcase. NOW!"

"The briefcase, Sir." Arthur emerged from the aircraft to set the silver case at Chuck's feet. "If I may be so bold as to suggest," The eldest of the three men eyed Chuck meaningfully, "perhaps we should make haste."

Chuck dragged himself up quickly on unsteady legs, grimacing in pain as he turned his pockets inside out, "I want everything that can identify you burnt. Now."

Arthur visibly stiffened. "Benson?" He questioned, a fear Chuck had never seen the man experience edging into his voice.

Chuck nodded curtly behind Jeffries' back, ""Rings, name tags, everything. Cell phones too. He'll be tracing them by now."

"Who's Benson?" Jeffries questioned distractedly as he tossed everything on him into the fiery wreck.

Chuck glanced at Arthur.

Arthur glanced at Chuck.

"The devil himself," Chuck answered, avoiding Arthur's eyes as he bent to open the silver case in search of the surgical masks and gloves.

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

Eric sighed and adjusted the school bag he hadn't used in five years on his shoulders. It contained Bart's old satellite phone – the crappier of the two unfortunately, the state of the art model had been mangled in the crash –, his and Chuck's walkie talkies, a few bottles of water, and all the medical supplies that he could carry. Not that they'd do him any good against what was coming.

The entire city was engulfed in a cloud of thick grey smoke. It was like a scene from one of those apocalyptic movies Chuck had had a major hard on for in the twelfth grade. Cars were overturned and lit on fire, mangled pieces of metal and cement spewed from gaping holes to blanket what he could see of the city. And it was eerily quiet. No sirens, no horns, no angry pedestrians shouting obscenities – nothing.

He quickened his pace, climbing over a small mountain of debris and praying that he'd find Serena and Dan.

And that they'd have Blair – alive and well – with them.

He adjusted the elastic holding his surgeon's mask in place and pulled the walkie talkie from his pocket with gloved hands to update Lily.

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

"You know you're pretty lucky…" Jonathan told her as he finished up suturing the last of her gashes, "Most of these won't even scar – mostly due to the skill of the extraordinary surgeon who just happened to be passing by when you were blown up…" he took a mock bow before pausing to pin her with a serious look, "but an inch to the left or the right," he traced the skin on either side of a gash on her neck, "and I'd be hard pressed to find you attractive right about now; all limp and lifeless."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the shiver of fear running down her spine and changed the subject, "The radiation… you're clean too, right?"

He quirked an amused brow at her as he tugged his off his bloodied gloves, "Worried about me, Princess? What would your ex-fiancé have to say about that?"

A muscle in her jaw twitched slightly, "We haven't talked in eight years."

Jonathan pulled a fresh pair of latex gloves from his lab coat and she wiggled her own gloved fingers in a silent question, avoiding any further inquiries into the subject.

"It helps reduce the chances of contamination," he answered, snapping a glove into place.

"Your hands!" She cried, catching sight of the bloody scratches covering them.

He pressed his pointer and middle fingers to his neck, "Yup. Just as I thought – I'll live."

She heaved a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Alright, we're done here." He held out a hand to her, "I'll show you to your quarters now, milady"

Blair froze, "No. I'm can't stay here–"

"No." He cut her off.

"– I've got to find my friend." She finished, ignoring his interjection.

"No." He repeated firmly.

She glared up at him, "Yes."

He studied her, "I understand where you're coming from, I truly do… but the chances of her surviving that blast…"

Blair set her jaw firmly, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

"Alright, Princess," Jonathan shook his head gravely, "Then it's been nice knowing you."

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

Benson hurled the transponder into the fireplace. He'd lost the signal before he could triangulate the Basstard's exact whereabouts. Fuck! Shit! Piss! He slammed the rest of his scotch back in one large gulp and turned on the TV, hoping that God would give him a sign. Anything to let him know he was still on the correct path.

A petite blonde woman flashed to life, a gnarled heap of twisted metal appearing in a small box to the left of her head on the screen. He stared at the heap of twisted metal. Was that…what used to be the tail of a plane? He squinted at the screen. It was! And there was the distinct outline of the 'B' of Bass Industries still faintly visible! His eyes flew to the ticker at the bottom of the screen.

So the Basstard was somewhere between Illinois and New York.

Benson sneered at his reflection in the TV screen.

Close enough to watch him hunt down his precious girl and slice her nipples to navel once he'd gotten what he wanted from her.

But too far away to stop him.

A/N Alright, this time it really will be about a week until I can update. :) BUT YES, serena and dan WILL be in the next chapter.

Lynne