Part VII

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Gossip Girl. I am just showing my appreciation for it.

"She really is the most cutest thing I have ever seen," cooed Serena, cradling her newborn half-sister Chloe Rose Humphrey.

"I get to be the indulgent older brother," chimed in Eric, leaning over his sister's shoulder to get a better look at one-day old Chloe.

Lily squeezed Rufus' hand, still a little pale from the birth. "She looks exactly like you did, Serena, when you were born."

"She's perfect," Rufus said softly, his hand entwined with Lily's.

"Little Chloe is going to have four siblings," squealed Jenny. "Pass her to me, S. You're hogging her!"

Serena smiled at Jenny's bubbly state and carefully passed Chloe to Jenny, who let out another delighted squeal.

"Congratulations, dad and Lily," said Dan sincerely. "And I want to hold Chloe after Jenny. Hopefully Jenny doesn't suffocate her or deafen her with her constant glass-cracking squealing."

"Ha ha," good naturedly retorted Jenny.

"Chloe is going to have two brothers and two sisters to look out for her," Serena laughed.

Dan exchanged a tentative smile with Serena at her comment. Their relationship was gradually repairing but Serena knew that she could never regain the previous intimacy she had with Dan ever again. However, she could not begrudge Dan for long with his good nature and honesty. Besides, after seeing the shabby state of Chuck's family, it made Serena appreciate the extended family that she had and compelled her to make more of an effort to build some sort of relationship with Dan for the sake of her mother and little Chloe.

A soft knock on the door to Lily's exclusive hospital room suite turned Serena's attention from her newborn half-sister to the new visitor. It was an unusually tentative Chuck holding a large bouquet of lilies and carnations.

"Chuck," Serena greeted him with surprise. "Come on in!"

Serena had not expected Chuck to make an appearance because of the messy past involving Lily, Rufus and Bart. Chuck had told her it would too awkward to visit the new baby and he doubted he would be a welcome addition to the tight family circle. So to see him here at the hospital was a pleasant shock to Serena.

"Meet Chloe Rose," proudly introduced Serena, pointing to the small bundle in Jenny's arms.

"I hope I'm not intruding," said Chuck formally, his mocha eyes scanning the expression of each of the Van-der Woodsons and Humphreys.

Jenny half-turned her body from Chuck as if she was shielding Chloe from him. Rufus and Lily exchanged looks.

"I got these for you, Mrs. Humphrey," continued Chuck, awkwardly holding out the bouquet to Lily.

Serena shot her mother a beseeching expression to be kind to Chuck.

"Thank-you, Charles," responded Lily gracefully. "Lilies and carnations are my favourite flowers. It is very kind of you to visit us."

Chuck inclined his head in reception of her compliment.

Lily turned her head to Jenny. "Jenny, let Charles have a turn at holding Chloe. Since he came all the way here with this beautiful bunch of flowers, I think he is quite deserving to."

"But—"

"Jen," warned Rufus.

"It's fine. Babies and I don't mix. I'll probably drop her or something," hurriedly intercepted Chuck.

"I doubt you will do that," Lily said serenely.

Eric sharply nudged Jenny. With bad grace, Jenny gave Chloe to Chuck. Serena stifled a laugh when she saw how stiffly he held the baby as if Chloe was a bomb that would explode in his arms if he made so much as a wrong move.

Chloe made a mewling sound in his arms and a happy gurgle erupted from her throat. A brief look of awe filtered through Chuck's face that Serena and Lily did not miss, which he then quickly hid beneath his customary exterior of Bass smugness.

Lily smiled softly for she always had felt sympathy for Chuck. "You see, Charles? You have not dropped her yet, nor has she sustained any severe trauma. It appears that she quite likes you."

Chuck coughed. "Once she gets older, she'll change her mind."

"I'll say," muttered Jenny, her dislike for Chuck evident. She had still not forgiven him for trying to forcibly come onto her two years ago when she had been severely intoxicated.

Eric nudged her again.

"Ow," complained Jenny, rubbing her arm. "Would you stop doing that?"

"It's okay, Eric. Little J's barbs are actually quite amusing," drawled Chuck, his eyes never moving from Chloe's face. "Her feelings for me are heartily reciprocated."

"Guys," cautioned Dan. "Can the both of you stop sniping at each other?"

Jenny rolled her eyes but did not argue.

"I have to say, Chuck, that a baby looks quite fetching on you," teased Serena, trying to defuse the tension. She kissed his cheek. "I find it quite sexy."

"Ew," shuddered Eric. "Get a room, Serena."

Serena playfully stuck her tongue out at him.

Chuck gave Chloe back to the safe embrace of Lily's arms. "I should go." He picked up his coat. "Congratulations to all of you."

He kissed Serena on the lips and she murmured against his lips, "I'll see you tonight at the Palace, 7pm?"

Chuck nodded his assent and quickly departed the hospital room.

"Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say that I certainly did not expect Chuck Bass of all people to rock up here with flowers," spoke Rufus, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Serena was about to open her mouth and defend Chuck but was stopped by Rufus' next words:

"But hey, I'm not complaining—he has great taste in flowers."

Chuck slumped into the backseat of the limo and loosened his bowtie, feeling as if he were slowly suffocating. It had been unbearable in that hospital room and being surrounded by all that sickening family love and support that practically pulled him under like an undertow. Envy seeped into every crevice of his heart.

The memory of the warm, petite and defenceless Chloe in his arms had stirred him deeply. Looking into her innocent eyes, he felt as if he was some sort of guardian and had been filled with such an urge to protect her that he nearly choked on what he felt, which was why he left the hospital after such a short period of time.

He had not missed the looks of sympathy from Lily and Serena and Chuck had always despised sympathy or pity. He was a Bass. He had been schooled from the cradle to dismiss pity and sympathy because those sentiments weakened and emasculated a man. Indeed, Bart had mercilessly instilled in Chuck the idea of natural selection: only the strong survived and the weak withered and died like a fragile seedling being strangled by the frost.

His mother had left him and his father kept him on the peripheral of his life like a toy that was only occasionally taken off the shelf, but Chuck was still standing. He had defied his father's reasoning and had found happiness that he had never thought possible with Serena. In a couple of years, he could be free from both his parents and shake off the odious stain that they had imprinted upon him.

His hand suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out the card that his mother had given to him two weeks ago. He ripped up the card, wound down the window, and tossed the shreds out that flew into the windy New York breeze like delicate wings.

Chuck's chauffeur, Raj Kumar, raised his eyebrows. "Mr. Bass, would you like me to turn back?"

"Continue on, Raj," Chuck calmly asserted, gesturing with his hand.

Raj nodded and the Bass limo purred on, leaving the shreds of Misty's card to fall onto the gutter.

Misty sipped an orange juice, refusing to slip into her old habits of booze and drugs. Charles had still not visited her and Bart had barred her from entering The Palace or Bass Industries. The both times she had tried to visit, she had humiliatingly been escorted off both premises by security guards.

When she had seen Charles for the first time, she had been struck with the similarity he bore to Bart. His features were so sharp, his posture impeccable and his eyes inscrutable. The only time she saw him thaw was with Lily's daughter. She realised that she was more like Bart than she thought for she had hidden her emotions behind a façade of cruel or superficial words. Indeed, the first words out of her mouth to Chuck had been jaunty and flighty and Misty mentally cringed at the memory.

Her servant Eloise quietly entered the room. "Mr. Bass is in the entrance hall," she intoned in a flat voice.

Misty nearly choked on her juice. "Show him in."

She rearranged her purple sari on the couch and feigned a nonchalant pose.

"Misty," Bart greeted her emotionlessly.

"Bart."

Eloise loitered by the door with inquisitive eyes.

"Leave us!" Misty imperiously commanded, gesturing for Eloise to depart.

Eloise muttered something under her breath and sourly shut the door behind her.

"You should really think of firing that girl. She seems sour and bad tempered," Bart commented.

"Bit rich coming from you, who seems to be the poster boy for emotional repression."

"I did not come down here to argue with you."

"Then why did you come?" challenged Misty. "To hand out tips on my domestic servants or for running an efficient household?"

"How much will it cost for you to go away and leave my son and I in peace?" Bart asked bluntly.

"Pardon?"

Bart calmly got out his chequebook and his Mont Blanc pen and spoke to her as if she were a small child. "I said, how much will it take for you to—"

"I heard what you said!" Misty snapped.

"Then how much?"

"I don't need your money. I'm staying here until you and Charles acknowledge me."

"Well you might be waiting around for an awful long time. Surely one hundred grand will be enough for you to fund your drug and alcohol habit?"

Misty clenched her fists. "I have been sober and drug-free for six years now."

Bart's eyes flashed. "Well, what were you doing then for the other five years that you ran off for?"

"In and out of rehab, passed out in drunken stupors in the street…"

Misty could see that Bart was practically strangling his chequebook as the white of his knuckles was pressing through his skin. "You have hurt and humiliated me beyond measure, Misty. How dare you flounce back here expecting that Charles or I will receive you with open arms? You are wasting my time and yours with this little charade. Just name me a sum and I shall hand it over to you."

"You know why I got onto drugs, Bart. If it wasn't for the death of—"

Bart thrust a finger in her face, breathing raggedly. "Don't you dare use that-that event as an excuse for your weakness. Millions of women have lost their—"

"Child, Bart. Child," Misty whispered.

Bart's eyes were burning into her. "I lost her too, Misty. She was my child too. Did you see me drink myself into oblivion because of her death?"

"By God, Bart! You just shut yourself off from Charles and I! You immersed yourself in work and left me alone. Our little Rose was just two months old when she died of SIDS. Charles was only two at that time…"

"I'm not revisiting the past, Misty. I only came here to talk about the future," said Bart thickly, his face turning away from Misty for a moment as if he had to regain the infamous Bass super-composure again.

"Bart, I want you to know that I never did give sexual favours to that drug dealer when I left you. I only said that so you would leave me alone and let me get away."

"Now I feel so much better," Bart caustically responded, his face bland again like the conversation about their dead daughter had never occurred.

Misty reached out to him, desperation suddenly filling her. She wanted him to understand that she had never been unfaithful to him, only that she had been so consumed by demons that the only way of cleansing herself had been to leave the Upper East Side. "Bart, please…"

Bart batted off her hand. He almost stumbled back. "You-you…"

Misty arose from the couch like a water nymph, her purple sari pooling around her and her hands outstretched. "Bart …"

Bart let out a strangled sound. Misty stepped closer to him. His chest rose and fell heavily. Their eyes were locked on each other: his stormy grey versus her tempestuous mocha. Misty's eyes were suspiciously wet and a choked sob erupted from her when she felt Bart's left hand run his hand through her hair. She traced his face, her fingers lightly running over the lines that had been harshly etched into his granite face. He gazed at her like he was a parched man that had just been rescued from the desert.

"Bart," she breathed.

A crash from the other room broke the hypnotic spell that had drawn the two of them together in a heady mixture of intoxication. Bart jolted away from her as if he had been burned and Misty immediately felt a hole where he had been.

A confliction of emotions battled for supremacy on Bart's face as he yanked up his briefcase and his coat. "If you think that you can get your way by using your body against me, then you are very wrong. I almost fell for it but—"

"I'm not trying to 'use my body' to get my way as you so crudely put it!" Misty exclaimed, her eyes flashing with indignation. "Bart, there is still something between us—that moment before proves it."

"It proves nothing," Bart retorted bitingly. "Nothing. You have always been a talented actress and this little episode merely proves it. I know that you and I are similar in that we are willing to go to any lengths to achieve what we want. Thus, I'm going to use all my powers to prevent you from disrupting Charles' life—do you understand?"

Misty laughed mockingly. "I'm more than ready to meet your little challenge, Bart."

"I'm warning you," coldly advised Bart and he stalked out before Misty could reply.

Meanwhile, Chuck arrived at his father's office at Bass Enterprises. His father's secretary, Mrs. Ingham, who had a dry sense of humour and had been the one who had turned up to his school events in the place of his father, was typing something on the computer.

"Charles, your father isn't here at the moment."

Chuck shrugged. "I've just got to retrieve some reports for him," he bare-facedly lied.

Mrs. Ingham raised an eyebrow. "And my name is Barbie. What do you really want from Mr. Bass' office?"

Chuck smirked. "I just came in here to be dazzled by your radiant face and worship you."

"Charles Bass, I hardly doubt you've come to worship an old crone like me."

Chuck sniggered. "You underestimate your powers of beauty."

"I'm sure I'm not," Mrs. Ingham responded drily. "Go into Mr. Bass' office you silver tongued man."

Chuck flashed his most charming smile. "You won't regret it."

Mrs. Ingram shooed him in, vainly suppressing a smile.

Chuck closed Bart's office door behind him and flung himself into his father's high-backed leather armchair, sticking his feet on the desk. Bart's study was almost inhumanly neat and devoid of any personal touch. The only picture was a skyline of New York at night. Not one picture of Chuck graced the walls.

Chuck lazily opened each of the desk drawers in order to find his father's collection of Cuban cigars. When he opened the third drawer, he rifled through a bunch of meaningless papers, thinking that the box was hidden under it. He was sadly mistaken and instead, found a small leather pouch. A smirk crossed his face, thinking that Bart had a secret stash of marijuana.

However, when he opened the pouch, he found six photos tied up with a pink ribbon. Chuck's heart pounded as he went through each photo. The first was of Misty and Bart as young adults, probably when they were first going out. It was taken at the beach in Miami. Misty was in a revealing fuchsia bikini and encircled in the arms of Bart who was in a pair of black trunks. The two of them were smiling and gazed at each other as if they were the only people in the world.

The second was of Misty holding a newborn Chuck in the hospital bed with a wide, dazzling smile on her face. The third was of Chuck when he was six years old and dressed in a black tux. The forth was of Chuck at thirteen, garbed in a white suit and standing on the podium beside Bart at the opening of a London branch of Bass Enterprises. The forth was of Chuck delivering a speech at the opening of his burlesque club Victrola and clipped to the photo was a bunch of newspaper clippings that raved in glowing terms about Victrola.

At that, Chuck's eyes widened. His father had never congratulated him about successfully running Victrola and had only uttered a few words of benign, detached advice. He could not believe that his father even bothered to keep newspaper clippings, let alone any photos of him.

The fifth photo was of Chuck and a glorious Serena at the second anniversary of Victrola. Serena was drop-dead gorgeous in a black lacy dress with a plunging neckline that clung to her every curve and flared out at her waist, reaching just above her knees. On her feet were black stilettos and a red rose pinned back her golden curtain of hair. Chuck was debonair in a black and white suite. His arm was around her waist and their eyes were only focused on each other. Chuck had whispered something slyly in her ear (Chuck could not remember what) and the photographer had caught the moment perfectly as Serena cracked up with laughter, her back leg kicked up and her hand by her scarlet mouth.

His brow furrowed in puzzlement when he came to the last photo. It was of Misty holding a baby swaddled in pink. Bart was perched on the bed with a toddler-aged Chuck sitting on his lap, entranced by the baby in Misty's arms. Chuck had never seen the baby before. Who the hell was it? Chuck flipped the photo over and saw that Bart had written in his elegant Victorian-era script: Misty, Charles, Bart and Rose.

Rose? Chuck's mouth became dry. Was Rose his sister? What had happened to her? He slipped the photo into his suit pocket and was unable to shake the image of Misty and Bart staring at each other with uncommon adoration, Bart's arms wrapped securely around Chuck and a brightly smiling Chuck himself reaching out with a chubby arm to touch the newborn Rose.

His desire for a Cuban cigar had long since faded and the office suddenly felt constricted and confined. He had to get out. He stuffed the leather pouch—minus the photo in his suit pocket—back into the drawer where it was originally kept and abruptly slammed the office door behind him, his mind swirling with questions.

Mrs. Ingram's head snapped up, her brow creased. "Can't find your father's cigar collection?"

"Something like that," Chuck muttered and strode out of the office before Mrs. Ingram could ask any further questions.

Serena came back to The Palace at 7pm exactly. She found Chuck at the mini bar with a glass of Scotch.

"Hey," she softly greeted him, coming up behind him and rubbing his shoulders.

"Hey," he responded, twisting around on his stool to give her a deep welcoming kiss.

She stroked his face. "Thank you for visiting my mother and Chloe today. It meant a lot to me."

His hands ran up and down her hips. "No problem."

Serena leaned her body into his, her whole body weight pressed against his. He kissed her with an almost urgent fervency and Serena responded enthusiastically, her mouth opening under his and her hands in his hair, around his neck and then running up and down his arms and shoulders.

When they both had to come up for air, Serena rubbed her cheek against his. "Are you okay?"

Chuck sighed. "I found this photo in my dad's office."

"What photo?"

He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the photo and showed it to her.

Serena frowned at the inscription on the back. "Rose?"

"Yeah. I think she was my sister."

"Your sister?"

"Apparently. Unless she was a model baby that they used for a promotional product for Bass Industries."

"What does your dad say?"

Chuck shrugged, his thumb twirling idle circles on Serena's palm. "I haven't told him that I've found it."

Serena placed light kisses on his forehead, eyelids and cheeks, and finally sought his mouth for a lingering kiss. "Oh, Chuck," she murmured. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not much," Chuck responded, his mouth quirked in a strained smirk. "I'll have to ask him myself."

Serena's ever-giving and selfless heart lurched at the pain that she saw Chuck was desperately trying to hide under a cover of sarcasm and feigned indifference. "Come to bed," she said in a low tone, smiling gently at him.

"Serena Van der Woodsen offering sympathy sex?" Chuck drawled, his eyebrow raised. "This is new."

Serena rolled her eyes. "As if, pervert."

"A man can dream."

"Seriously, we can talk or…"

"Have sex?" finished Chuck, stroking her cheek.

"Chuck."

"Your offer sounds good. I think I might need a brain transplant, but talking sounds nice."

Serena gave him a half-grin. "Something must be wrong if Chuck Bass is sacrificing sex for talk."

"Must be. I need to decide what I'm going to do with this information."

Serena got up and held out her hand to which Chuck gratefully held onto, like she was a bulwark to keep afloat on whilst all else slid into oblivion. "Come to bed," she repeated.

Chuck silently allowed her to lead him to his bedroom.

Hope you all enjoyed it. Please review and tell me what you think!