The air was darkening over the outskirts of New York city as one gleaming locomotive chugged through. Inside, the lamplights gleamed golden round the first class carriage - reserved for just two people, dark heads nestled against its plush red seats. Blair's hand was wrapped inside Chuck's, her head on his shoulder.

"He seemed impressed with Mr. Montgommery," she prompted.

Chuck appeared unconvinced. But then, when it came to Bart, when was he ever not?

They were on the way back from Westchester - and to say it had been an awkward visit was an understatement. Bart hadn't been able to cope with the thought of people looking after him any more than Chuck had. If anything, the presence of his son had seemed to make it worse - he'd been more distant than ever, and even more abrupt than usual. Chuck had just been relieved that Blair was there. She and her forceful distraction were the only things that had managed to elicit a faint smile from Bart. Chuck had never been more grateful for her presence.

"Well, it's a good thing Baizen wasn't there to tell him otherwise," Chuck muttered now. Baizen was still dead set against the accountant, and apparently determined to find some kind of problem with him. And every time Montgommery proved him wrong with his exemplary work - he'd been a find, truly - it seemed to irritate Carter further.

"Even if he had been there," Blair replied, giving his hand a squeeze, "It's not like he has a leg to stand on." She smirked. "He just can't handle the fact that you succeeded and he failed."

That did make Chuck smile faintly as he glanced down at her.

Blair snuggled further into his shoulder. "And speaking of Carter, we need to keep him away from Serena." She sighed. "Humphrey's still sulking in his loft, and all it's doing is pushing their marriage closer to the edge. Not to mention the scandal it's creating."

Chuck pulled a face at that. "Well, much as I despise Humphrey...he is the lesser of two evils." His thumb traced Blair's hand in idle patterns. "Somebody needs to tell him how ridiculous he's being." And at that, a flash of content crossed his face. "I'd be more than happy to."

Blair rolled her eyes back. "And I'm sure you'd enjoy every second of it, but I doubt it would convince him to move to the Upper East Side. Ever."

Chuck looked disappointed.

"No," she sighed, "The problem is his pride. He's putting up such a fuss because he feels emasculated and insignificant."

This earned a frown from her husband. "But he is emasculated and insignificant."

"Yes," Blair answered impatiently, "But we need to convince him that he's not. He needs to feel like he can provide for Serena."

"Maybe he should sell that useless gallery, then," Chuck scoffed.

"That's it." Blair sat up a little, eyes gleaming with the beginning of a plan. "The gallery."

Chuck glanced down at her again. "If it starts making money," he realised, latching straight onto her thought process, "Humphrey will feel like he's actually worth something."

"So all we need to do," Blair finished, "Is convince an actual good artist to showcase his work there." She settled back against her husband with a smile of satisfaction. "I'm a genius." Chuck arched an eyebrow, and her gaze flickered briefly up to him. "Fine, you are too."

He smirked and dropped a kiss into her hair.


"How were Charles and Blair?" Lily enquired as she settled next to her husband. She'd spent the day shopping to give Bart a chance to spend time with his son.

"Fine," he responded brusquely. "Bass Industries seems to be under control, and Blair's doing very well for herself. The Observer want to interview her."

Lily kept her patience as she straightened the flowers on the bedside table. "And how was your son?"

She could feel Bart's frown. "I told you. Fine."

"Bart," Lily sighed. "I'm worried about him. Blair says he's spending a lot of time at work."

This simply earned her another frown. "As he should be, one would hope."

Lily was silent for a moment. Chuck wasn't her son, she knew. But sometimes she felt closer to him that she did even her own children - in some ways, it was easier to be a mother to the boy who'd never had one. "Bart," she said at last. "Pushing him away isn't helping anyone."

Bart's lip curled. "You don't understand business," he retorted crisply. "Charles has responsibilities."

"So do you," Lily reminded him. "As his father."

"And it's my duty," Bart snapped back, "As his father, to make sure that his legacy is protected. To make sure he's ready to look after himself. I've provided him with everything he needs."

Lily let him carry on, lips pressed together. She waited till he'd finished. "And what about love?" she asked then. "Have you ever even told your son you love him, Bart?"

There was a harsh silence.

The truth was, Bart couldn't stand it. Bad enough that Lily had to see him this weak - but his own son? It was humiliating. What kind of son wanted to see his own father as a helpless old man? And he was terrified, underneath it all. Terrified because he knew he was going to lose the boy. The last thing he wanted was for Chuck's last memories to be of a pathetic invalid. He'd seen him today, so strong and confident next to his wife, so committed - and Bart had suddenly realised he was terrified of being irrelevant to the boy.

And the only way Bart Bass knew how to deal with fear was by pushing everyone away. Hoping, underneath it all, that if he kept Chuck enough at a distance, then he'd never have to see the pity in his eyes. He didn't know what scared him more - the thought that his death would devastate Chuck, or the idea that it wouldn't. That it would be a loss of dead weight. And God knew it wasn't like he'd given the boy a reason to love him. Bart had always made a point of valuing respect over love (love was too complicated, too weakening) - but with respect a lost cause, now, Bart was faced with love. The last thing he knew how to deal with.

"I'm tired of this conversation," he said flatly. His eyes were hard and blank. "I'm going for a walk." And with that, he left.

Lily sighed. Well, she supposed she'd tried.


Jack Dawson was in the middle of completing his sketch when there was a knock at his workroom door.

"Come in," he called, still focused on finishing the final touches, eyes skimming the page. He glanced up and stopped in surprise when he saw who was standing in the doorway. It was the brunette from the failed Waldorf Designs shoot. She looked every bit as upright as she had on that day, still standing on ceremony at the door.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I couldn't seem to find a maid anywhere."

Jack smiled a little. "I don't have any."

She appeared torn between incredulity and disdain for a moment, but hid it well. "Oh. How...interesting." Jack felt a flicker of amusement. She took a half step closer, and it was obvious she and her cream dress were uncomfortable with the pencil shavings and paint. "I'm actually here on behalf of my husband," she stated formally. "Or rather, his brother in-law."

(Chuck loathed, loathed Humphrey being referred to as anything like a brother - but needs must.)

"I have a proposition for you."

Jack listened with increasing curiosity as she informed him she would pay three times his usual fee - he still wondered at being able to throw money around that easily, always would - in return for holding one exhibition of his work at some Brooklyn gallery.

He stared at her for a few seconds. "If you don't mind me asking - why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let's just say that the gallery owner needs all the help that he can get." She smiled sweetly. "And I'm a giving person."

He somehow doubted that, but he was intrigued nonetheless.

He gave a little shrug. "Forget the fee. I'll do it free of charge, if you like."


"Thank you, Adrian." Chuck shook the man's hand. "That all seems great." He glanced at his watch again as he showed the man to the door of his office - he had lunch plans with Blair, and he was greatly looking forward to them.

"Is there somewhere you need to be, Mr. Bass?"

"I'm meeting my wife," Chuck smirked back. "So trust me when I say I appreciate you handling this all so quickly."

Adrian smiled. "I'm impressed you find the time. I don't know many men that can run a company and still take their wives out for lunch."

Chuck felt a slight twinge of guilt at that - because, actually, he hadn't taken her out in a while. Not since Bart had been in the hospital.

"So where are you taking her?" Adrian enquired.

Chuck was already buttoning up his suit jacket and straightening his cuffs, ready to leave. "The Algonquin. It's just around the corner." He moved out into the corridor, heading for the elevator. "Are you coming this way?"

Adrian sighed ruefully. "I should probably run over a few more numbers first."

Chuck nodded and thanked him again, thoughts already on his waiting wife as he stood outside the elevator. He had just entered the compartment, and was on the verge of closing the door, when a hand slid in. Followed by a person that made Chuck's face darken instantly.

"Baizen."

"Bass."

The two men stood, ignoring each other, as the elevator started its descent.

Adrian paused next to the elevator lever. His old home had a rickety dumbwaiter, and when his father was feeling particularly cruel, he'd used to push Adrian into it as a 'joke'. Adrian had spent enough hours trapped in the dark box to have figured out how the system worked. He'd suffered from claustrophobia and a mistrust of elevators ever since - enough to have spent time working out how they functioned too. The never-ending elevator journeys were one of the worst thing about Manhattan and its towering buildings.

Now, though, they were about to come in handy. He pulled the lever, stopping the elevator Chuck and Carter had just entered mid floor. Then, whistling to himself, he headed for the stairs.


Blair readjusted her dress as she sat at the table. He was late, which was unlike him. She'd already been waiting ten minutes. And it hardly gave off the best of appearances for a lady to be sitting alone in a restaurant.

She prayed there wasn't some kind of crisis at Bass Industries as she sipped her water. That was all they needed. She'd been looking forward to lunch all day - particularly as she was faced with the odious prospect of tea with Penelope after it. She'd cancelled on her enough times, and had by now run out of excuses.

She was so busy thinking of a list of possible reasons for an early exit from Penelope's that she didn't notice the man watching her till he spoke her name.

"Mrs. Bass?"

She glanced up to find herself faced with the brilliant green of Adrian Montgommery's eyes. He smiled - and he did have a nice smile. Blair made a mental note not to let Serena near him the next time he smiled.

"Mr. Montgommery. What are you doing here?"

He gestured to the table next to hers, which a waiter was in the middle of setting up. "I thought I'd take my lunch break. Actually, your husband suggested this place." He glanced around. "Is he meeting you here?"

Blair pressed her lips together. "He's supposed to be."

For a moment, Adrian paused as though sensing her ire. "I'm sorry, I'm sure the last thing you want is your husband's accountant sitting in on your lunch - I can go elsewhere." He started to leave, but Blair stopped him.

"Don't be silly. Enjoy your lunch." She gave him a smile, which he returned as he took his seat.

Blair returned to perusing her menu, though she'd long decided what she wanted. Honestly, it was nearly twenty five minutes now - what was he playing at?

Adrian watched her lowered lashes, taking in the delicate curve of her cheekbone and the dark curls on the exposed nape of her neck. He waited till the waiter was halfway through pouring his red wine before swiftly knocking the glass over. The effect was instantaneous, bleeding into the white tablecloth. "You fool!" he snapped, loud enough for Blair to hear, as he jumped to his feet. "Will you watch what you're doing?"

The waiter was already babbling his apologies as he tried to dab away the wine; too late, though. "I'm sorry sir," the man stuttered, "We'll just get this cleaned up-"

"And where do you propose I sit in the meantime?" Adrian demanded, knowing full well that the other tables were all full. He let out a sigh. "Fine, I'll just have to wait."

Blair paused. Truth be told, she didn't want to do the charitable thing. Then again - it would give her more ammunition to hold over Chuck's head later. She'd had to entertain his accountant while she was waiting for him to arrive. And with any luck, talking to him might reveal a convenient wife to keep him well out of Serena's way. (Of course she trusted her best friend. But one could never be too careful. And Blair had never been one for taking chances). And at least she wouldn't be sitting alone if her husband's accountant was with her.

"Mr. Montgommery?" she called demurely. "You're welcome to sit here while they clean it up. At least until Chuck arrives."

Adrian flashed her another grin. "If you're sure?" He was already heading straight for the seat opposite her. She found herself, once again, just a little too close to those dazzling eyes.

She cleared her throat. "So. Tell me about yourself, Mr. Montgommery."

He continued to gaze at her, and his voice was soft. "What do you want to know?"


"Unbelievable," Chuck fumed as he struck the elevator door again. "I don't believe this."

Carter gave him a look of dislike. "Isn't maintenance of the building something you're in charge of, Bass? Yet another thing you've failed at."

"Mouth closed, Baizen," Chuck growled. "It's bad enough that I'm this close to you, without having to hear you too."

"I should make a list," Carter continued, as though he hadn't spoken, "Of everything you've messed up since Bart left you in charge. I don't know what he was thinking."

And at that, Chuck snapped. He just wanted to get to his wife, damnit. "If you don't mind me asking," he sneered, "Whatis your obsession with my father? Is it because your own daddy doesn't love you? You can't steal mine, Baizen. And your attempts at making me look bad won't work."

"I don't need to attempt anything," Carter shot back. "You do that all by yourself."

Chuck glared at him. "Why can't you find some other company to weasel your way into? Surely you've done what your father wanted now? You're back in the Baizen fold." Seriously, where the hell were his maintenance staff? "Is it purely to torture me? Because if so, I'm flattered." His eyes blackened. "But don't you think you've done enough of that already?You're lucky I haven't killed you for what you did to Blair."

Carter snorted. "Oh, I'm terrified. But Blair has already taken her revenge. So you can keep your pathetic death threats to yourself."

"What revenge," Chuck demanded, "Could ever pay you back for what you did?"

Carter gave him a funny look. "You know what I'm talking about. Don't pretend you didn't have some part in it either."

But for once, Chuck actually didn't know what he was talking about. "What?"

"The letter," Carter hissed. "The two of you must be so proud of yourselves. Stealing my PI and using him to make sure Serena married Humphrey. A worthless gallery owner - what an achievement." His voice was ripe with bitterness.

Chuck frowned. He didn't know anything about a letter. He knew Blair had made an effort to contact Humphrey to get him to find Serena - but she hadn't mentioned Carter in any of this. In any case, he scoffed, because that wasn't the point. "Did you really think Blair would help you after what happened?"

"I gave her back the necklace," Carter snapped in answer. "I prised the stupid thing out of Goergina's hand, didn't I?"

Chuck gave him a look of sheer disbelief. "You're right, that more than makes up for kidnapping and torturing her."

Carter ignored him. "I'm trying to help you now. Adrian Montgommery is bad news."

"So you keep saying," Chuck drawled. "But I've yet to see any proof, other than the fact that I got him before you did."

The other man ground his teeth. "Look, regardless of what I did in the past - I care about Bass Industries." Chuck just rolled his eyes at that. How stupid did Baizen think he was? "You don't understand. I know Montgommery." Carter swallowed. "I knew him in Los Angeles. His family are one of the ones I owed money to. My father has paid my debts off, but I still stole from them. And they don't forget."

There was the sound of knocking on the door above them. "Hello? We're just getting the elevator working again - there seems to have been a problem with lever. We should have you out in a few minutes."

Chuck groaned in relief. "Finally." He just prayed Blair was still in the restaurant. Lunch was out of the question now that he was an hour late - but at the very least, he could grovel. Or she could yell at him.

"Bass." Carter cut into his thoughts, impatient.

Chuck spared Carter a glance. "Frankly," he said coldly, "Any enemy of yours is a friend of mine."


Adrian escorted Blair out of the restaurant and insisted on walking her home. Truthfully, she'd found talking to him surprisingly easy. He really was very charming. Which made it all the more concerning that he didn't have a wife. She could see him talking his way into Serena's life very easily.

Adrian proffered his hand, glancing at the way the breeze played with Blair's immaculate curls. Then his gaze skimmed over her head, to where an all too familiar figure was hurrying towards the restaurant they'd just left. Had Blair turned round at that moment, she would have seen her husband straight away.

"Is that Central Park?" He directed her attention in the opposite direction, pointing to the vast expanse of green. "I've heard it's very beautiful."

"It is," Blair smiled. "You should see the duck pond."

Adrian offered her another brilliant smile in return. "I don't suppose you have the time to show me now?"

He saw the flicker of uncertainty cross her face. And just like that, she'd withdrawn. "I don't think that would be very proper," she responded. Stiff.

He dropped his gaze. "Forgive me." His smile was sad now, half wry. "I think maybe being new in a big city is starting to take its toll." His eyes met hers. "I'm just feeling a little cut off from human contact, and I enjoyed your company so much...I forgot myself. I'm sorry."

She regarded him for a moment before she accepted his apology. "In any case, I need to get back. I have other arrangements."

Adrian gave her a look of admiration. "You never stop, do you?" He took her hand briefly, now that they'd arrived at her building. "Well, thank you for a lovely lunch. And I'm truly sorry about your husband." He gave her a little wink. "I'll have a word with him at the office, if you wish."

Blair's grimace was sweet. "Oh, that won't be necessary." She had plenty of punishment in mind for her husband. "Good day, Mr. Montgommery."

He watched her go, eyes fixed on her retreating back. He realised he hadn't been lying, either, when he'd said he was enjoying her company. He'd found himself telling her more about himself than he'd intended to, and it had left him a little confused. He told himself it was just an attempt to lure her in - but it hadn't been part of the plan. He gave his head a brief shake. Sure, she was a beautiful girl. Who said he couldn't mix business with pleasure?


"Dan Humphrey?"

Dan looked up from sweeping the gallery floor. Sometimes he wasn't sure why he bothered, considering it was almost permanently empty.

The blond man moved forwards, proffering his hand. "Jack Dawson." He glanced around the deserted room. "I wanted to book this place for an exhibition."

Dan nearly choked. "What?"

"I'm an artist," Jack started to explain.

"I know," Dan interrupted, still stuttering a little. "I mean, I know who you are. I just...uh, don't really understand why you're here?"

Jack laughed. "Let's just say I've heard good things about this place."

Dan could only gawp. "From who? Don't get me wrong, I like the place, but...well, I wasn't aware anyone else did." He swallowed. "And you're one of Manhattan's best artists."

The man glanced at him for a moment. "Well, I never used to be." He gazed around once more. "So, what do you say?"

Dan was so dazed he practically tripped over himself in his eagerness to accept.


Blair managed to repress another eye-roll as Penelope started yet another story about her fantastic British husband. They were married as of a month, and clearly Penelope was milking it for all it was worth. And the worst thing? Her husband was Lord Marcus. Blair's loss was a great source of delight for Penelope.

"And once this ghastly war is out of the way, we'll be back in Marcus' ancestral home. Cameron - you remember, my brother?" There was a slight dig, a pointed look. Yes, Blair remembered Cameron. "He keeps saying that there's no place like..."

Blair strove to tune out the rest of Penelope's monologue, interspersing it with interested nods. And then she tried not to look too relieved when they were interrupted by a maid.

"Mrs. Bass? I'm sorry, but your husband is down in the foyer. He requested your presence?"

Blair's eyes narrowed instantly. "He did, did he?" So he turned up after abandoning her at lunch, and he expected her to just drop her schedule for him? He had another think coming. In fact - how dare he? "Well," she informed the maid sweetly, "You can tell Mr. Bass that I'm occupied at the moment, and he can wait." Her expression darkened. "I did." And with that, she turned back to Penelope. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

Penelope raised an eyebrow, but was more than happy to go back to talking about herself. "I was telling you about Cameron's wife. You know, she's expecting her first child." Clearly the aim was to point out how well Cameron had done for himself. Another failure of Blair's. Penelope smirked. "And they've only been married a few months." Blair suddenly had a nasty feeling she could tell where this conversation was going. "So, are you and Chuck-"

"As a matter of fact," Blair leapt to her feet, "Speaking of Chuck - I probably should go and see what he wants. I really shouldn't leave him waiting in the foyer like this!" She was already halfway out the door. "I'm so sorry - I'll be right back!"

She departed as swiftly as decorum would allow. By the time she'd reached the foyer, though, she'd drawn herself up. If Chuck thought he was going to get away with this -

He was waiting for her, peonies in hand. His dark hair was swept by the wind, and she tried to ignore quite how devilishly handsome he looked.

"You're three hours too late," she informed him icily. She folded her arms, glaring at him. He ignored it, of course, moving forwards with that smirk.

"I'm sorry." There was genuine apology in his eyes - which she made a point of ignoring right back. He moved even closer, catching her arm as he held out the flowers; close enough that his breath mixed with his cologne, already assaulting her senses. "Would you believe me if I said I was stuck in an elevator?"

She promptly turned her nose up. "No, I'd say that was the worst excuse ever." She tossed her hair, and he couldn't help but think what an adorable sight she made. Lips pinched, arms still folded and those brown eyes full of reproach. "If you think you can just turn up here with flowers and everything will magically-"

She was cut off as he scooped her into his arms, squeaking in alarm as she found herself being carried bridal-style out of the building.

"Charles Bartholomew Bass! Put me down this instant!" She wriggled in his grasp, indignant as she tried to push at his chest. "What are you doing? I happen to be in the middle of tea with-"

"Penelope," he filled in, ignoring her protests, "Who you hate." He was quite calm as he carried her to the waiting car, unaffected by her blows.

"This is downright degrading!" Blair shrieked. She attracted a look from a rather taken aback doorman. She sent him a glower of disdain, but made sure to hide in Chuck's shoulder afterwards. If anyone else saw her - oh God, she would be ruined.

She was going to kill him. "You left me waiting at lunch-"

He dropped her into the car, following and pulling the door shut as he tugged her into his arms again, mouth on hers. She found herself quite unable to resist as his lips covered hers, hot and familiar. He finally paused long enough to smirk down at her. His hazel eyes gleamed golden in the passing streetlights. "I thought a rescue mission might redeem me."

"Dragging me out like a caveman is not rescuing me."

But they were both aware of the lack of conviction behind her words, and his smirk broadened. He kissed her again, lips coaxing hers as his fingers slid round her waist. His voice was a low murmur against her neck. "Then let me make it up to you tonight..."


A/N - So...um, yes, I am meant to be revising. Who knew it would take the prospect of memorising verb tables for inspiration to strike? I really am going to get back to work now. And if I update within the next two weeks, it means I will in all likelihood fail my exams. But I just thought I'd post this little chapter!

Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews.

Also, just to clarify - I realised too late that Jack Dawson unfortunately shares a name with Chuck's uncle. But Uncle Jack will NOT be making an appearance in this story. Jack Dawson is based on the Titanic character (ie not a villain.) Just to make that clear!