Chuck dragged the door to Blair's room shut as she reeled round to face him.

"What is Georgina Sparks doing on this ship?" she hissed.

Fortunately, their parents were either still at dinner or had retired to the lounge; so they had time to collect their thoughts.

"I don't know," Chuck muttered back. "Perhaps it's just coincidence."

But he didn't really believe it either, because; "It's Georgina. Nothing is ever coincidence where she's concerned."

"We haven't seen her at any meals," he realised. He was pacing, now; he couldn't help it. Carter was bad enough, but Georgina actually gave him chills. "Not when we boarded, not on deck..."

"So she can't be in first class." Blair couldn't stop the faint curl of a gloating smirk; "Which means she's staying with the commoners."

"But she's supposed to be in Texas. Or Mississippi. I made sure of it." How the hell had she even got back to Manhattan?

She had to have known that Chuck and Blair would be on board; Bart's business venture had been mentioned in enough papers, and there wasn't a single gossip column that had failed to notice that the Waldorfs would be accompanying him. And even if it was coincidence, regardless of what her other motives may have been - she'd be after one thing once she realized. Chuck and Blair excelled in revenge, but for Georgina it went beyond an obsession.

There was no way she'd let either of them - especially Chuck - get away with what they'd done when they were in such close proximity.

"She can't get at us from third class," Blair suddenly declared, with far more confidence than she felt. She would not be intimidated -

Chuck just looked at her.

"It's Georgina."

By the time Chuck got back to his apartments, Bart was already there, reclining on the velvet lounger. And there was actually a drink rather than a sheaf of papers in his hand.

He glanced up as his son entered. "How's Miss Waldorf?"

For once, Chuck didn't bother to correct him on her name. "She's fine. Back in her room." Watching her panic had actually helped him clamp down on his own panic; calming her down had given him something to do. Besides, Chuck and Blair didn't panic - they schemed. They had eventually agreed to keep a low profile, for now, and try to find out as much about Georgina from a safe distance. Admittedly, there wasn't much else they could do.

Bart nodded. He took a sip of his drink, then commented; "I was impressed that you went to check she was all right."

Chuck stared; was his father actually praising him?

Bart raised an eyebrow. "That's the kind of responsible behavior I've been wanting to see from you, Charles."

Chuck swallowed in nervous pleasure. "I...I'm glad."He'd finally got his father's approval for something. He couldn't believe it.

Bart seemed to realise too; it wasn't every day they had conversations this pleasant, after all. He cleared his throat. "I noticed Carter Baizen's interest, though."

Chuck pulled a face.

Bart glanced at him. "I don't think Baizen is to be trusted. And I certainly don't think he'd make a good match for her."

"I couldn't agree more," Chuck answered darkly, and this seemed to please Bart.

"We need to do whatever we can to keep him out of the way."

We?

Chuck actually had his father's support in this?

"Of course, sir," he stammered. For God's sake, he berated himself - show a little backbone. He wasn't a stuttering idiot, even if Bart did make him feel like it sometimes. His father was actually treating him like an equal. For once, they were actually on the same page. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen," he promised.

"Good." Bart nodded, rising to his feet. "Good night, Charles."

"Good night, father."

That night he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

He'd come up with a plan. As long as he was there, Carter had no hope of getting to Blair. In fact, everything was in Chuck's favour - he not only had Bart's support, but even Eleanor's. All he had to do was play along with their plan, and Carter wouldn't stand a hope. Blair would be safe.

And, he told himself - over and over - keeping her safe was only keeping his promise to Nate. He was fulfilling a duty. Nothing more. It couldn't come from his own desires. He'd shut off any desire to protect her a long time ago. He'd buried all of those feelings. She wasn't his to protect. He kept reminding himself of those facts, a mantra, as he lay there.

But it didn't really explain the burning jealousy (and he knew that was what it was, really) at the mere idea of Carter touching her. Or the fact that his first instinct tonight had not been to run, but to get her away from Georgina.

It didn't explain the way her brown eyes had been haunting him for the past three years, and, for some reason, he couldn't justify it with hatred any more.

He hated Carter. He hated Georgina.

And those feelings weren't anything like what he felt for Blair.

Which left him with what, exactly?

She certainly hated him.

If anything, he hated for not letting him hate her. It wasn't fair. If he did hate her, like he'd been set on doing for so long, everything would be so much simpler. There wouldn't be this infernal churning in his stomach, for one thing.

The answer, he resolved, was to keep everything as simple as possible. Deal with one problem at a time. (He'd never admit it, but he may have inherited Blair's love for lists. They were logical. That was all).

Firstly, keep an eye on Georgina. Be prepared for any possible attack.

Second, carry out Bart and Eleanor's plan. That killed several birds with one stone - kept Carter away, kept his father happy, and kept his promise to Nate.

Third, stop thinking about Blair.

No.

Third, stop focusing on feelings, and focus on thinking. Scheming. That was what Chuck Bass did best, and it was the only way to survive.

There. Simple.

He rolled over onto his front, squeezing his eyes shut, and tried to replace the damn fluttering in his stomach with sleep. And he was still trying when the first rays of grey light began to filter through his porthole.

Blair was bored out of her mind.

Tea in the ladies' room was certainly not her idea of an entertaining morning. She might otherwise have enjoyed the chance to dress up and sit gossiping and drinking tea from the best china. But being forced into another dress, this one a deep green, that she didn't want to wear - I've told you, Blair, just because you're in 'mourning' doesn't mean you shouldn't make the most of your assets. You should be emphasizing your fair skin, not dulling it out with blacks - and forced into her mother's company, once again, was the last thing she needed.

It didn't help that the ladies in this room were awful. She actually would have been grateful to replace them with that nosy woman from dinner last night.

"So, Eleanor, what are your plans in London?" a particularly irritating socialite - Penelope, if Blair recalled correctly - asked from over her tea cup. Her eyes slid to Blair with a false smile. "After all, you've just missed debutante season. All the eligible bachelors will be otherwise occupied."

Eleanor pursed her lips. She was a New Yorker, through and through; instilled with the firm belief - which she'd passed to her daughter - that Manhattan was the only city worth living in. "We certainly have no desire to hunt for eligible bachelors in London. Blair and I are actually going on to Paris. Given the circumstances, I felt my daughter could do with a break."

Her tone was pleasant enough, but her gaze withering; and there was the veiled reminder that her daughter was a widow and should be treated with the appropriate respect. (Eleanor only seemed to remember this at convenient times, of course - but this time Blair wasn't complaining).

Penelope's expression soured. "Of course."

"Doesn't your husband live in Paris?" another woman chimed in. "He's been there for a few years, has he not?"

"On business," Blair snapped, before her mother could answer. She would not permit any of them to insult her father.

"Hmm. Rather a long business trip, don't you think?" The women exchanged smirks behind their cups, a faint snigger.

"You're traveling with Bart Bass, though, aren't you?" Penelope had got her footing back, and was quite set on making her point. "I'm surprised either of you feel safe around him. Or his son."

"I can assure you," Eleanor responded icily, "That Bartholomew and Charles are perfect gentlemen. They have shown us nothing but the utmost respect." Her eyes narrowed. "Which is more than I can say for some."

Blair glanced to her mother in surprise; the intimidating levels of acidity coming from her were nothing new, of course - what was surprising was that she was grateful for them. She couldn't remember that ever happening.

"Well," one of the ladies snorted; "It seems new money really can buy you anything these days. Even manners."

Eleanor's lips thinned to a hard line. She was well aware of the connotations with new money; she'd weighed them up herself. She may have been one for reputation, but she was also, above anything else, practical. Keenly and cunningly so. And she was also aware that old money, while fashionable, had a tendency to be frittered away by aristocrats with no concept of a modern economy. And Bart Bass certainly did not fall into the category of vulgar new money; he was a shrewd businessman. Which his son had all the makings of.

She was no stranger the spiteful digs and bitchiness of these events; she'd had years of practice dealing with them. She'd already decided on what she wanted, and a few fools' criticism would only strengthen her resolve. No one told Eleanor Waldorf what to do.

"What a shame your husband's money couldn't buy you any," Blair responded sweetly.

Eleanor glanced at her daughter with a flicker of pride. She didn't approve of rudeness as a general rule, but sometimes it was necessary. She'd taught her well; just the right level of politeness, society smile still in place.

She couldn't have put it better herself.

Blair and Eleanor left the room in procession with the others; Blair still seething inwardly.

The tea room led directly into the lounge, where the men usually gathered to smoke cigars and play billiards. And - to speak of the devil - there in the corner stood Chuck Bass. He glanced up as she came in, his gaze meeting hers; and she was aware that all the ladies were looking too.

Well, she'd show them.

Head held high, she marched towards Chuck.

No one insulted the Waldorfs. Or any of their decisions.

"Chuck," she said clearly - for them all to hear - drawing even closer. Her fingertips even brushed the arm of his jacket as she smiled up at him, radiant. "There you are." She held her hand out for him to kiss and he pressed it to his warm lips, eyes searching hers. "Would you escort me to the sun deck for a breath of fresh air? There's something about this room making me feel quite unwell."

He knew at once that she was up to something, of course; he cast a curious glance back at the other women, half amused, before returning to her. Still, he was more than happy to play along. "It would be a pleasure." He held his arm out, and she slid hers into it with another smile up at him.

"Thank you."

They departed together; Chuck even caught the small of her back as he held the door open for her, guiding her smoothly through.

Amidst the mutters of the women, Eleanor's gaze met Bart's. They exchanged a small, delighted smile.

"So," Chuck enquired wryly as they strolled over the deck - her arm was still in his; she must not have realised yet - "What was all of that about?"

She wrinkled her nose. "They were rude to mother," was all she said, simply; and it was all she needed to.

He snorted. "Well, then they're clearly even stupider than I thought."

Blair tried not to smile at that. "Quite." She still hadn't removed her arm, and Chuck hadn't let go. They carried on down the paneled walkway, the sea to their right and sunlight slanted through the columns. "Have you managed to get any news of Whore-gina?"

Chuck pulled a face. "I've paid one of the serving boys to make some enquiries below." As if either of them would ever descend into third class themselves. "He didn't know anything about a Georgina Sparks - but apparently there's someone called Sarah Humphrey who fits her description. Traveling with a certain Daniel Humphrey - she claims he's her brother."

This earned a scoff; "That sounds like Georgina. She doesn't even have a brother." Blair paused, thoughtful. "I wonder how she managed to get this Daniel to go along with it? Do you think she's drugged him?"

Chuck had wondered the same thing. "Hopefully, with her usual lies." If Georgina had an actual accomplice, after all, the situation was worse than they'd thought. They exchanged a glance. They could only hope. "But that's all I could get," he added regretfully. "We still have no idea what she's up to."

"I'll get to one of the maids. They're likely to have more gossip."

Chuck nodded in agreement.

They came to a stop as they reached the end of the walkway, pausing by the railings. The breeze was surprisingly strong, and Blair was grateful for the bulk of Chuck's warmth, her hand still tucked inside the crook of his arm.

(And that was all it was, she reminded herself sternly. After all, if he was going to be generating all of this frustrating heat, she might as well put it to use).

"Blair," he said quietly, suddenly; "I need to tell you something."

For a second, she half paused, her eyes moving up to his.

"It's about Baizen."

Oh. Of course it was. She mentally kicked herself. Well, what else would it have been? Idiot. Stupid sea air. Being on the deck was clearly bad for her health.

He hadn't failed to notice the way she'd looked at him, though. He hesitated for a second, but she'd already perfected her neutral expression.

"What about him?" she asked, impatiently.

He'd decided he needed to tell her - he'd need her co-operation, and he knew she'd be highly unimpressed if it suddenly seemed like he was going along with their parents' plan. If she thought he was actually showing an interest, she'd probably go to Baizen just to spite him.

"He's trying to get back in with his family, and he wants to use you to do it." He wasn't going to tell her about the Bass Industries part, though, or Baizen's threats. "He thinks landing a Waldorf will help his chances."

She stiffened in disgust.

"I just thought I should warn you."

"Well...thank you."

"And it occurred to me that as long as you're with me, he won't have a hope of succeeding."

"He wouldn't anyway," she snapped. Chuck tried not to feel too pleased; he'd known as much anyway, hadn't he?

"So perhaps we should make the message as clear as possible."

"You mean...act like we agree with what our parent's want?" She gazed at him; and he was, for once, unsure of the expression in her eyes.

"Precisely."

"Very well."

He was surprised that she'd agreed so readily - he'd expected more of a struggle. If only because he knew she was loath to agree on anything with him.

"So," he said, with the faintest, almost questioning smirk; "You don't mind acting like you adore me for the next five days?"

"I think I can survive five days," she replied coolly, "If it saves me a lifetime with Carter Baizen. Besides, I'd hate for you to feel like you weren't fulfilling Nate's last request."

Chuck paused. "Of course." His gaze skimmed out over the waves, away from her as he bit the inside of his mouth. "Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

Blair was busy fixing her hair before dinner when she heard the knock at her door. She'd been making the most of a break from Eleanor - she'd seized upon the cunning plan of getting dressed while her mother was bathing, avoiding as much interference as possible.

She glanced up from the mirror; she was still in her white slip, curls spilling half loose over her shoulders. "Who is it?" she called.

"It's Eloise, miss."

Eloise. The maid she'd asked to get information on Georgina.

Hastily, Blair rose from her vanity, pulling a silk robe over her shoulders. She could still hear the taps running next door; perfect. She opened the door, standing aside to let the girl in.

"Well? What did you find?"

The girl paused, her eyes sliding to the door leading to Eleanor's room. "I can't tell you here," she whispered.

Blair's eyes narrowed with impatience; "What do you mean you can't tell me here? Just spit it out."

"Please, ma'am," her eyes were wide, afraid; "I could lose my job."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Blair tossed a final glance back to the other door - the water was still running. She'd have time. "Come on, then, let's go outside."

She eased the door shut behind her, following the maid out to the open corridor. The first class rooms were designed so that they faced out to the ship's right side, reached by a wide walkway that was bordered on the other side by the ship's railing.

"Well?"

The maid shook her head, anxiously. "Further away."

She was already hurrying down the walkway; Blair reluctantly followed, growing increasingly annoyed. She would not be paying this girl the full -

Where had she gone? Blair stopped, frowning. "Eloise?" she snapped. She moved forwards, nearing the corner, straining to see into the shadows. "This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself. "If that girl doesn't get-"

Her breath was cut off as something rammed into her back, propelling her forwards and into nothing.

Chuck was adjusting his bow tie when Bart appeared. His father's suit was already immaculate, of course. Chuck's gaze fell to the box in his hands."What's that?"

Bart paused, before holding it out to him. "It was your mother's."

Chuck's throat was suddenly dry; he took the box, swallowing, and opened it very slowly. Nestled inside was one of the most beautiful diamond necklaces he'd ever seen; he recognised it, all too well, from the portrait of his mother that hung in Bart's study.

He glanced up at his father. "Why are you..." Then it occurred to him. "You want me to give it to Blair."

Bart cleared his throat. "I understand Carter Baizen will be at this dinner? I think this should send a clear message."

Chuck felt sick. Not at the idea of giving Blair his mother's jewelry, though; at the idea of using it to stake his claim on her. But of course. How could he have forgotten - this was all a business deal to Bart. One big manipulation. Bribery with beautiful trinkets. That was exactly Bart's style. How had Chuck even let himself think otherwise? He knew his father.

"Father." His voice was low. "I can't give this to her."

Bart sighed. "Come on, Charles. I thought we'd moved past this childishness?"

"That's mother's necklace," Chuck hissed. Because that was what made it ten times worse; Bart was willing to give away his wife's jewelry to seal the deal.

Bart's eyes flashed. "I'm well aware of that. So you should be aware just how much it means that I'm giving it to you."

Chuck shook his head in disbelief. "So I can use it to send a message to Carter Baizen?"

"In part, yes," Bart replied coldly. "Because if your recall, by doing so you're protecting her." His mouth flattened. "But mainly because it's about time you showed her how you feel."

Chuck stared up at his father. The denial had already started to build, automatic; "I've told you before, father, I don't feel anything for her. She's Nate's wife. I'm only doing this because he asked me to look after her, and because it's what you want."

"You can lie to yourself all you want, Charles," his father sighed. "But don't bother lying to me. I know you far too well." Chuck opened his mouth to protest, stunned, but Bart hadn't finished. "Now, I've given you the means to own up to it. So why don't you man up, for once, and go and prove to her that you're not a coward."

Chuck could only stare. Finally, finding his voice, he muttered; "You don't understand, father. That's not something she wants to hear. It never will be."

His father appraised him. "Then make it something she wants to hear." He nodded at the door. "Go."

But his father didn't understand - this would change nothing. Bart really didn't understand just how much Blair hated him. He was half tempted to throw the box down and refuse; but he knew that wouldn't achieve anything.

So, glowering, box gripped in hand, he stalked out of the room.

Once outside, however, he hesitated. What was he supposed to do now? His father would be expecting to see Blair in the necklace at dinner. Then he realised - actually, he could outsmart him. All he had to do was explain it to her. (Not the part about his feelings, or lying to himself; obviously - just that Bart had made him give her the necklace). The message to Carter - she'd agree to it. And Bart would never know.

He had no qualms about actually giving her the necklace, after all. Something that beautiful deserved to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty. (He refused to think about why, exactly, she was the only person he'd ever want to give something that precious to. That wasn't the point). And, knowing Blair's love of all things beautiful, she wouldn't complain either.

If presented with a love confession, on the other hand, she'd probably throw it to the bottom of the ocean.

And, with that thought in mind, he headed for her room, deciding to ignore that voice in his head screaming that he was a coward. The Basses' cabin was placed to the left of theirs; unbeknownst to Chuck, Blair had gone to the right.

Drawing himself upright, he knocked on the door.

She'd fallen between the gaps in the railings, arms shooting out and, in panic, just managing to seize one of the bars before she fell to the sea below. Which left her hanging, helpless, by just one hand. Her fingers clung to the bar as tightly as possible, but it was icy beneath her grip, cutting into her skin, and she was unable to pull herself up.

Her arm was already starting to ache from the unnatural position. She willed herself to hold on, ignoring the pain, but she didn't know how much longer she could support her own weight. She tried calling, pathetically; but there was no one around to hear her.

And it was so cold.

She still couldn't quite believe it; had the maid pushed her? She should have picked up that something was wrong - but no; she'd not only followed the heinous girl, she hadn't even told anyone she was leaving the room. No one knew where she was.

She was so busy cursing all of it that she almost didn't hear the voice. Then it sounded again; a male calling something. She tried, in vain, to raise herself, wincing at the pain in her arm and yelling out for help as loudly as she could. (Blair Waldorf never did manual labour). It was no good - she'd just have to pray whoever it was came by this section of the walkway and saw her hand.

"Sarah?" The voice did at least sound like it was coming closer; "Sarah? Where are you?"

"Excuse me!" she shouted. "Can you help me?"

"Sarah?"

"Help!"

She heard a gasp of horror, and then looked up to see an alarmed face staring down at her.

"Miss! Are you all right?"

"Do I look like I'm all right?" she managed between ground teeth. "Can I get some help?"

"Hold on, I'll pull you up-" A strong hand wrapped around her arm, the other reaching for her other arm; she almost cried out in pain as she was hauled upwards, over the railing and back onto the safety of the ship - the man, thrown off by her weight, stumbled backwards - she landed on top of him in a heap.

"What do you mean she's not here?" Eleanor demanded.

Chuck had already searched the rooms; and now that he'd established she wasn't in the bathroom, either, he was starting to feel a prickle of unease. Her hairbrush was still on the vanity, and the dress she'd clearly been planning on wearing was laid on the bed.

"Where on earth has she got to?"

Chuck had already headed outside, though. He didn't know how he knew - but something was wrong. He scanned the walkway in both directions; and then, at the other end, he heard a cry.

Heart thumping, he broke into a run.

Blair swiftly climbed to her feet - her legs were still a little shaky - and off the young man on the floor. He was poorly dressed, she noted, with dark, curly hair that could really have used a cut. Not exactly the ideal rescuer; but she supposed he had at least rescued her.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously now; if anything, he seemed more panicked than she'd been. "What happened to you?"

"Blair!"

He was cut off as someone charged at them; Blair turned, startled, and took in a slightly wild looking Chuck. She realised there was actual fear in his eyes as they moved over her, checking that she was safe. He seemed to calm, ever so slightly, once he'd established that she was.

"What's going on?" His eyes narrowed on the young man, rounding on him; "Who are you? What did you do to her?"

The young man suddenly seemed to realise quite how inappropriate this looked; he was alone in a first class corridor, where he clearly didn't belong, with a half dressed young woman. He swallowed as he took in the robe that had slipped off her shoulder, dark curls brushing the tiny slip underneath. Then he hastily tore his eyes away as he realised Chuck had followed his gaze and looked ready to murder him.

"What's going on?"

Eleanor had arrived on scene, accompanied by Bart and two custodians. Her eyes widened as she took in the state of her daughter; "Blair! What is the meaning of this?" Then her eyes flickered to young man; "And who are you?"

They were all looking at him with deep suspicion now.

"My name is Daniel Humphrey," he said hastily. "I just - I was coming to look for my - sister, and I heard a cry-"

"Mr. Humphrey saved me," Blair interjected; they'd be here all day with his stuttering.

Chuck's gaze shot to her in disbelief.

"I just stepped outside to take some air, and managed to lose my footing. Luckily, Mr. Humphrey came along and pulled me up."

She'd already decided it would be unwise to try explaining what had actually happened - at least until she found out herself. They were all looking between her and Humphrey in varying stages of incredulity now. Chuck most of all; her gaze slid to his, but he'd obviously worked out she needed to lie for now, so held his tongue.

Eleanor was not so retiscient. "You stepped outside to take some air in your slip?"

"And ended up here?" Bart added, frowning. His distrust was not leveled at Blair, however; he couldn't seem to decide whether this Humphrey or his own son was to blame.

Typical. What did Bart think he'd done, gone to give Blair the necklace and scared her down the corridor?

"Well," Blair responded haughtily, glaring at the custodians; "You seem to keep the rooms on this ship permanently overheated. Is it any wonder that I keep feeling faint?"

The younger custodian gaped, quickly fumbling; "Sorry, ma'am, we'll try-"

"But what were you doing in first class?" the elder one interrupted, addressing Humphrey. Anything to take the pressure off themselves.

They all returned to the young man, taking in his poor attire. Dan flushed, sensing their judgement, and pulled himself up defensively.

"I told you, I was looking for my sister. I thought she'd come up here."

"And where is she now?" the custodian asked, skeptical.

Blair, however, suddenly exchanged a sharp glance with Chuck. Daniel Humphrey's sister. "Sarah?" she demanded. "That's the name I heard you calling, isn't it?"

"Yes," Humphrey said immediately, gratefully; relieved to have his story validated. "Sarah. I was calling her when I saw Miss..."

"Mrs Archibald," Blair filled in before anyone else could.

"Mrs. Archibald. But that's the only reason I came up here. And, as you can see, I still haven't found her - so I'll just be on my way-"

"Wait," Chuck called calmly; Blair nodded, briefly, at him - a look that no one else saw. "It seems we owe you thanks, Mr. Humphrey. After all, if you hadn't come along..."

"It was nothing," Humphrey said quickly; he really did want to get away from these people. The young man with the dark eyes in particular.

"No need to be modest," Chuck smiled - a smile that made Dan even more uneasy. "Truly, I think you deserve a token of our gratitude."

"Oh, that's really not nece-"

"How would you like to join us for dinner tonight?"

Humphrey froze. Even Bart glanced at Chuck, brow furrowing. Eleanor's eyebrows had almost disappeared.

"Dinner?"she enquired. "Charles, are you sure-"

"I think that's a wonderful idea," Blair chimed in. "It's the least we could do." She flashed a smile at Humphrey. "What do you say?"

"Well, I-"

"Excellent." Chuck clapped a hand on his shoulder (making a mental note to wash it afterwards; the cheapness of that jacket was surely infectious). "We'll see you at eight."

A/N - I know, shameless stealing from Titanic. I couldn't resist. I have also discovered the 'horizontal ruler' button on this site...but let's breeze past my embarrassing lack of technological knowledge.

Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I'm glad so many of you are enjoying the story :) And I hope this chapter moved things forward a bit...