A/N I don't own anything, not meant to be offensive. THANK YOU to everyone who has been leaving their thoughts, they keep me pushing through:). Please let me know what you think!

THANK YOU to Feef and ladymacbeth922 on LJ

Dan starred down at Eric's terrifyingly limp form

Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

What the hell had he done?

Had he really just done that? Had he seriously just stabbed a man's neck? Eric's neck?

Had he just… had he just killed Eric Van der Woodsen?

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

"Jesus Christ!" Blair roared, her nostrils flaring as her chest heaved rapidly. "Give him to me!"

She snatched the terrified child from Jonathan's confused grip, ignoring the searing pain that the impromptu surgery had renewed with a vengeance in her shoulder as she tucked the child into her chest, pinning the arrogant ass before her with a look that hadn't marred her features since before she shivered feverishly in his arms. "Serena. NOW."

Jonathan eyed her for a split second longer before he merely nodded and hurried back to the Serena's side; his failure to toss a despicable pet name or arrogant quip over his shoulder hanging heavily in the air around her.

Or more aptly… like a noose around Serena's neck.

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

Who the hell set the alarm clock for this early? Lily reached out a hand to slap off the annoying buzz and it connected with something that was most definitely not plastic. She forced one confused eye open. She wasn't nestled in the comfortable warmth of her king size bed at all, but was sprawled face down on freezing cold, and oddly wet, cement.

And the incessant buzz wasn't the annoying screech of her alarm clock, but was coming from inside her head…. which, come to think of it, felt like she'd rammed it through a brick wall. Or been conked on the head with an anvil made from stone – or ice.

Ice? Where had that come… oh! The hale!

Lily sprang upright, barely managing to swallow the urge to hurl as pain exploded behind her eyes and squeezed her stomach. She grabbed her head in her hands until the stars dissipated and her vision cleared, but the buzzing refused to go away.

No. It wasn't buzzing, it was voices!

And… yes! A Male voice!

Eric!

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

The wind wiped angrily at Grant's face, pulling on his ears and shoving gusts of snow down his collar. He followed Nate carefully, watching as he struggled to make his way sluggishly through the hip deep snow. The younger man kept wordlessly shrugging off any help Grant tried to offer him; regardless of the fact that he'd been an unconscious Popsicle only an hour ago. He wouldn't stop to catch his breath, shook his head vigorously whenever Grant tried to make him eat any of the food he'd salvaged from the old farm house, and had yet to take so much as one sip of water. And he'd barely even acknowledged Grant's presence behind him since he'd eased his pace half an hour ago. Grant was beginning to contemplate tackling Nate to the ground to force sustenance past his stubbornly shut lips.

"You need to eat something," Grant called to his back through the ragging storm.

Nate's spine remained ramrod straight; he didn't turn around or nod his head, but Grant knew his words hadn't entirely been lost blocked by the nearly opaque wall of white separating them.

"Nate," Grant tried again, his muscled thighs burning in protest as he forced them quickly through the sea of white to close the gap between them. He pulled a half numb, beefy hand from the pocket of the too small jacket he'd traded his own soaked jacket for and grabbed at Nate's elbow.

Nate's feet stilled, but he didn't turn blue eyes in Grant's direction.

"You can't do this to yourself," Grant's voice was as soft as he could chance it being without the storm pummeling his words into unheard oblivion. "You're no good to Vanessa like this," he tugged on Nate's elbow until the boy had no choice but to face the man who'd been his surrogate father for years, but he kept his eyes averted. "You need to rest, have some water – eat. It'll only do her more harm seeing you like this."

Nate didn't respond.

Grant hesitated, silently contemplating whether to cross the imaginary line Nate had drawn so clearly in the snow between them. Finally, he decided that he couldn't just sit back and watch the man Nate had become despite everything he'd had to overcome – the man he didn't even think he was to begin with, be destroyed. "I know you don't want to hear this," he let his voice harden slightly and Nate's gaze shifted to his face, taken aback, "but I love you like you were my own, and I feel I've earned the right to say it." Grant let his words linger in the air between them meaningfully before he continued, "Don't let him do this to you; you're better than this. Don't carry his sins on your shoulders; don't make the same mistakes he did." He reached out his free hand to grab Nate's collar when he moved to turn away from him, "You are not your father, Nathaniel. So stop acting like him and start taking proper care of yourself and of Vanessa."

Nate glared at Grant, his jaw clenched; his hands fisted so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had gone whiter than the snow. And then without warning, he shoved his white knuckled fist into Grant's face, catching the ex-military man completely off guard, and knocking him flat on his back in the snow.

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

On some level Chuck knew he was dreaming; he hadn't been in this room, or even this house, since that day in late November. And yet here he was; the walls as blue as if he'd only painted them yesterday instead of nearly ten years ago, the plush carpeting as soft beneath his feet as it ever had been. And her, exactly as she had been that day, in the centre of it all, as if he'd never left.

She'd been standing with her back to him dressed head to toe in black, and though he couldn't see her face he knew there would be matching circles beneath her eyes. He had wanted to comfort her, scream at her, throw her against the wall and bury himself inside her – anything to stop his heart from tearing itself from his chest, his soul from blackening, but he hadn't been able to do anything, could only stand in the door way drinking himself numb and watch as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

She hadn't know he was there; she was too lost in her own sea of pain and grief to register anything but the heavy weight of nothingness that had descended upon her the moment the mechanical blips had melded together in one solid, continuous beep. He'd nearly felt his own heart stop beating then, right long with his – had wished many times since that it had.

He wasn't sure what it had been that had pulled his blurry eyes to her hands then, the drapes had been drawn; the late morning sun unable to glint off the metallic chain entwined in her fingers, but he'd watched them then as he watched them now, fiddling with the little gold band that had been the bane of his existence long before he'd even come to realize it. Fitting, since the red of rubies had always embodied both passion and rage.

And then the images before him bled into people and places his eyes had never witnessed. A small amber eyed boy kicking his legs enthusiastically as they rose in the air and swung back towards to the ground; a dark haired man laughing happily as he pushed the small boy higher and higher on his swing under the watchful eye of a delicately beautiful woman plump with child and happiness.

But the man pushed the child too hard and he fell to the ground, landing awkwardly amid the sand with a sickening snap of his neck, his unseeing eyes seemingly beckoning Chuck to him, pleading for help as the adults circled each other dangerously, spitting and biting and scratching each other repeatedly as he lay dying. But Chuck couldn't move, couldn't go to him, couldn't call out; couldn't even force a twitch form his useless limbs.

And then suddenly the grassy playground and the boy were gone and he was sitting on the front porch of an old log cabin nestled between two snowy peaks. The cold bit his ears and nipped his nose; caressing his cheek with its icy, bony fingers and stealing his warmth. Snow was falling from the sky in spades to frost the mountain tops until the sinister grey monsters could no longer withstand the blanketing purity and shook off the offending cold crystals. White somersaulted end over end down rocky grey towards him, but again his limbs imprisoned him and he could not move. He opened his mouth to scream as the avalanche of snow crashed over him.

His eyes flew open.

Or at least he would have screamed had he been able to do anything but blink and breathe.

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

Dan had to remind himself to breath. Not that he should be allowed to still be breathing when he'd just… murdered his girlfriend's brother. Fuck. He'd just murdered his girlfriend's brother. Jesus, he should be shot. And maybe doused with gasoline and lit on fire. His knees gave out, but he barely registered the jolt of shins crashing into jagged rocks. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck was he supposed to do know? What the hell was he going to tell Serena? What the hell was he going to tell himself? Guilt churned in his stomach and spewed past his lips in a greenish-yellowish bile, splattering next to Eric's…

body.

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

Blinded by tears of joy, Lily raced up the giant pile of jumbled skyscraper. It shifted unevenly beneath the strain of her weight, causing her to stutter and stumble ever second step. Sharp edges tore eagerly at the soles of her bare feet, but she felt nothing but the blissful numbness of pure joy. Eric was somewhere on the other side, hidden from view by the grey monster before her. She could feel it in her bones.

She had finally found him!

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

Blair shifted her position slightly, absently nestling the small boy against her shoulder. She'd been sitting cross legged on the rubble two feet from Serena, watching Jonathan like a hawk and unknowingly rocking the terrified boy in her lap since she'd ordered the good Doctor to get his ass in gear nearly an hour ago.

The constant thundering that was her heart beat slowed considerably as she watched Jonathan's hands move swiftly and competently, attempting to bribe life back into the statuesque blonde. She chanced a glance down at the tiny boy clinging to her neck once the worried expression marring his features softened slightly and her heart bled for him. His lips were blue and he was half frozen from the cold; the light sweater and jeans, that under normal conditions would have been more than enough to ward of a light November chill, were doing next to nothing to stave of the frigid cold that had descended upon them. Shit, he was practically hypothermic! How had she not noticed? And when had it gotten this cold?

Blair hugged the small child to her chest protectively in a move that still came naturally despite being years out of practice and tried not to cry out in pain as he buried his face in her injured shoulder. "Shhhhh," she cooed soothingly as she gently rocked him back and forth, "it's ok now. I've got you, you're safe. You're alright." He titled his head slowly to look up at her, amber eyes fraught with worry meeting hers. "Hi there," she greeted cautiously. He hiccupped against a fresh round of tears and she automatically patted his back reassuringly, ignoring the fire that tore through her injured body at the motion; she didn't want to scare the terrified and timid thing by wincing. He shifted slightly in her lap and cuddled himself into her breast, staring up at her shyly as she slowly swayed him. His lips were still tinged blue, but no longer looked like she'd applied thick lipstick to them, and his hair was dark and curly, falling in heavy wisps into his amber eyes. Jesus, he was no more than ten years old – the same age Charlie would be if…

She pushed the painful memory to the back of her mind, refusing to acknowledge the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes, and brushed a dark lock of hair back from his forehead.

Fuck, he was burning up.

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

Body. Eric's body. Fucking hell. He was dead.

He tore guilty eyes from Eric's expressionless face.

No. This wasn't happening. I just wasn't happening.

He flicked another quick look at Eric, but he remained eerily still.

Shit, it was happening, he was fucking dead.

At Dan's hand. No, no, no, this wasn't his fault. He'd had to do it. This wasn't his fault. Eric was infected and crazed from fever; he would only have infected Dan too. This wasn't his fault.

No, this could all be laid at Chuck fucking Bass' feet. He was the one who'd financed Eric's death, the one who'd unleashed this hell on Manhattan. Chuck was ultimately the reason why Eric lay dead at his feet. It wasn't Dan, he hadn't infected….

Wait. Something didn't sit well with Dan. How had Eric been infected in the first place? And when? He was so sure that the virus was unlike anything the world had ever seen before, but Dan had spent the last four hours with him and four more wandering around Harlem, completely exposed, and hadn't been infected.

What the hell was going on?

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

Grant massaged his jaw as he trailed behind Nate at what he thought was a relatively safe distance. The boy had a pretty good arm on him; his jaw was already starting to stiffen from the swelling. Although he figured that it was the least he could do, letting Nate clock him one. Because of the mishap with the oxygen mask - yes, but mainly because the boy had just needed to put his fist through something and if it helped him work himself out before they reached Vanessa, then Grant was more than happy to volunteer.

He sighed as he watched Nate trudge through the frozen snow. It would be unbearable in and of itself to loose their baby, but that it happened just as Nate was being to accept that history didn't have to repeat itself, that he wasn't doomed to follow in his father's footsteps… it was like taking two steps forward only to be knocked a hundred steps back. He couldn't stand to see him do this to himself. He wasn't The Captain, didn't even come close to being the type of man who would shirk his responsibilities and abandon his family. To Nate, Vanessa had never been a burden he had to live with or a constant reminder of his failures and, in all the years he'd known him, Grant had never seen him look at Vanessa with anything other than adoration in his eyes.

Their relationship could not have been more perfect if they tried. Vanessa understood Nate and let him be who he was; she didn't expect anything from him but him – regardless of who his father was or what he had done, and Nate had always given Vanessa the freedom to express herself without reservation; he didn't restrict her or judge her, but reveled in her uniqueness. Grant liked to think that, aside from him and Janine, they were two of the most evenly matched people on the planet. And they loved each other the way only dead poets could ever fully understand; losing the baby would devastate them.

Grant's heart went out to him; he knew the pain of losing a child, probably more than Nate was ware of, but he didn't think it was something he would hear right now, least of all from him. Maybe Janine would be able to get through to him. He had a feeling that a woman's perspective just might be the thing to smack the sense back into Nate he'd been missing lately. Normally the lad had a way of eventually coming to the right conclusion on his own, but judging by the tension in his shoulders and the look in his eye it was going to take more than just the passage of time for him to pull his head from the past and really see what he'd been putting Vanessa through the last couple of weeks.

Grant nodded to himself absently as he watched the younger man, still weak from his hypothermic bought of shock and his outright refusal to waste a second eating, make his way through the cold night on sheer will power alone. Maybe he had the right idea and getting to Vanessa as quickly as humanly possible wasn't such a bad idea after all. Grant only hoped that the five or so hours it would take to trek back into the city would provide Nate with enough time to battle his demons.

And not succumb to them.

Grant shuddered involuntarily. He didn't like eerie silence enveloping them that seemed to stretch for miles, or the uneasy feeling beginning to root itself firmly in the pit of his stomach.

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

"Eric!" A metal sliver sliced through Lily's palm unnoticed as she half ran / half crawled up the hill. "ERIC!"

Dan's head snapped up in panic as Lily came tearing up the mountain toward him. Her eyes were wild with hope, her hair a bloodied, frizzy halo around her head. "Lily!" he jumped to his feet and rushed toward her attempting to draw her attention away from her son's corpse behind him. "Jesus, Lily! Are you alright?" He grabbed her upper arms, twisting her around so that her back was to the gruesome sight of her youngest son. "What happened to your head?"

Her head whipped around, searching frantically for Eric. "Where's Eric?! Where's my baby?!"

"Lily," Dan's voice was surprisingly calm compared to the hurricane raging inside him, "I need you to calm down."

"Where the fuck is Eric?!" She screamed, ripping her arms from Dan's grasp. He fell backward at the unexpected break and she seized the opportunity, racing away from him towards the lump of human that had caught her eye. "Eric!" the knees of her jeans ripped open against broken glass as she sunk to the ground, staining the light denim a deep red and mixing with the content of her son's stomach splashed around his unmoving head.

"I didn't want you to see him like that," the words rang hollow to Dan's ears and he couldn't bring himself to lay a comforting hand to the woman who'd often been a surrogate mother to him over the past ten years.

And whose son he'd slain in cold blood.

Lily gently caressed her son's cheek, wiping bile from his lips, but said nothing.

Dan shoved his useless hands into his pockets, his eyes on his shoes. "I didn't have any choice. The bombs weren't the only…" he swallowed slowly, gathering the nerve to finish his sentence and explain Eric's death, "there's a virus. Eric was exposed…" he let his sentence trail off, unable to find the words.

He was expecting her to explode; hit and bite and punch or yell and scream threats. He was even half expecting her to try to kill him herself, and truth be told he wouldn't have stopped her. What he was not expecting; however, was the arms she threw around his neck in happiness, wet tears of relieved joy dampening the crook of his neck or the soft side to side motions as she rocked him against her breast. But what he was most definitely not expecting was the wobbly 'thank you' she whispered against his cheek as she pressed her lips there before returning to knees beside her son.

What did she think was going on?

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

Chuck blinked frantically. What the fuck was going on?

"Please attempt to remain calm, Sir," Arthur's dull drone both startled and comforted him. At least he was still alive and exactly where he'd been before he'd fallen asleep and not suffocating under a tidal wave of snow.

No – not sleep, he hadn't fallen asleep. Arthur had fucking sedated him!

"I apologize," Arthur cut through his panicked rage, reading his mind. "However, you left me no alternative."

Chuck's eyes bugged out of his head as he strained pathetically to lift a hand or lick his lips – anything.

Cool blue eyes flitted from the darkness beyond the windshield to quickly assess their passenger, "Do not be alarmed, the increased paralysis is chemically induced. I felt it the best course of action to preserve my safety until we successfully reach our destination."

Chuck exerted control over the only thing he had left to exert control over and shut his eyes against the old man's explanations.

His attention refocused on navigating the old station wagon Arthur continued, "The paralytic will also aid to accurately assess and diagnose your condition. Restricting movement in the vertebral spines reduces the swelling inflicted by trauma sustained during and subsequent to the crash," Arthur adjusted his hands on the steering wheel and the car swerved quickly to the left and then back to the right, "and may reveal the paralysis to be temporary."

Chuck's eyes snapped open at that.

"Please remain calm," Arthur chided without sparing him a glance, "the sedative and paralytic agent have proven themselves to be rather volatile when combined with increasing hear rates. And as I was unable to reproduce the recommended dosage exactly due to the sparse contents of the briefcase, you would do well to relax until we arrive."

Relax? Just fucking relax? He needed a God damn drink, that's what he fucking needed! Relax! Lying flat on his back at the mercy of Arthur the Terrible and the world going to hell in a fucking hand basket?

And him - being dragged further and further away from New York and the cure… and closer and closer to him with every tiny breath he took.

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

"Lily…" Dan stepped forward tentatively, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. "Eric's -" and then he saw it; or rather didn't see it. There wasn't any blood; Eric wasn't bleeding.

How was that possible?

If he'd stabbed him through his carotid there would be blood everywhere, but there wasn't a drop - nothing. Not even where the needle jutted out from his neck. And he was breathing! It was faint and barely noticeable, but it was there!

Oh, thank God. He'd never been this happy to be the world's worst athlete before in his life! Never been happier to be unable to wack a leather ball with a wooden bat or hit the broad side of a barn. "…not dead," he finished lamely.

"Of course he's not," Lily responded without dragging her eyes from Eric's face.

"I know," Dan rushed the words out quickly, "I just didn't want you thinking he was. You know, because of the needle…"

Lily seemed to notice the glass syringe in her son's neck just below his ear for the first time and turned questioning eyes on Dan.

"Antidote," Dan explained licking his lips nervously. "For the virus. I didn't have any other choice," he repeated defensively, "he didn't have much time left."

Lily nodded, her eyes shinning with grateful tears. "Thank you."

"Thank you."

Dan jumped at the hoarse croak, his eyes jumping to Eric's face. His skin was pale, his eyes still dull with fever, but he stood under his own steam and crossed to Dan, enveloping him in a grateful hug. "Thank you," he repeated, his voice heavy with emotion. Steadying himself with both hands on Dan's shoulders, he pulled back slowly. "I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here." He cleared his throat awkwardly, swallowing against the tears that threatened to fall, "And I'm sorry for think-"

Dan cut him off before he had a chance to finish, "No. You don't have to apologize." He grabbed for Eric's arms as he swayed slightly on his feet, "You need to sit down. Rest - get your strength back."

"No," Eric shook his head stubbornly. "You saved my life and I want to ap-"

"You don't have to," Dan interjected quickly, guilt eating his insides. "Really – I'd rater you didn't." He forced a chuckle, "I don't want to have to return the gesture."

Eric smiled weakly and nodded. Lily cleared her throat pointedly from behind him and he reached an arm back, beckoning her to him. He held Dan's gaze a minute longer before he wrapped both arms around his mother, hugging her tightly to his chest. "I'm fine mom, it's ok," he cooed softly into the matted mess of her hair, the needle long gone from his neck. "Shhhh… don't cry. I'm fine, I promise."

Dan averted his eyes, giving them a moment in private before he cleared his throat. "I hate to break this up, but you need to get the hell out of here."

"Yes," Lily wiped fat tears from her cheeks. "Yes – we need to find Serena."

"No."

Eric turned to Dan in shock. "What?"

"You're right," Dan frowned apologetically at Lily, "I'm sorry Lily, but he's right. Eric couldn't have been infected more than three hours ago at the most." He turned stubborn eyes to Eric, "It's just not safe for the two of you."

Eric cocked an eyebrow, "Two of us?"

"I'm going to find Serena," Dan's tone left no room for argument.

Eric sighed heavily, preparing to rehash the argument they'd already argued to death, but Lily's flabbergasted gasp cut him off, "What?!"

He turned sorrowful, apologetic eyes on his mother, cupping her face in his hands. "I'm sorry," his voice wavered as he tried to find the words to explain to her why they had to leave Serena behind, "but there's no other way. It's too dangerous. We have to leave now." He hesitated briefly, choosing his words carefully before continuing, "She might not even still be-"

"No!" Lily shook her head, refusing to hear him vocalize the fear that had been plaguing her since the first blasts had rocked Manhattan. "NO."

"He's right," Dan cut in, seizing the opportunity to agree with Eric for the first time in, well, years. "I hate to admit it, Lily, but he's right. It's too dangerous for the two of you. You need to leave. Now."

"Humphrey," Eric glared at Dan, the colour returning to his cheeks.

Their fragile, unspoken truce at an end, Dan glared back. "Don't throw your weight around with me, Van der Woodsen. I said I'm staying and I'm staying. I'm not leaving without her."

Lily tugged at Eric's shirt frantically, but he kept his eyes locked on Dan's. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes," Dan returned, "I do."

"You'll die," Eric warned over Lily's head, ignoring her angry tirade.

"I've been dead for years," Dan shrugged, but his eyes belied the casual action and Eric studied him intently, seeing past the thinly veiled reference to his sister's supposed drug abuse.

Dan hesitated, but the words were clamoring to escape and he heard them fall from his lips before he could stop them. "It can't touch me – I'm immune."

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

Blair glanced at Jonathan worriedly, but his hands were still wrist deep in Serena's neck and she selfishly wanted to keep them there.

Feverish chills began to wrack the boy's small body and lull him into unconsciousness. "What's your name, kiddo?" she asked, attempting to keep the worry from her voice as she bounced him back awake in her arms. "I'm Blair," she added when his cold lips remained unmoving.

"Zack," came his barely audible reply.

"Well Zack," Blair continued, infusing her voice with a calmness she didn't quite feel, her eyes trained on Jonathan's nimble hands, "you see that man over there?" She motioned toward Jonathan, even though Zack's eyes had slid shut once again, "His name is Jonathan and he's a doctor. And…" she trailed off, realizing that that was all she knew about Dr. Jonathan Price. He'd been hauling her around Manhattan for hours; withholding pain medication, sticking needles in her arms, and selectively offering up medical attention, and all she knew about him was his name and occupation.

Blair shuddered. If he even was who he said he was – he didn't act like much of a doctor to her.

Her eyes flew to the hands holding Serena's life in their palms. My God, for all she knew he could be an escaped mental patient or could have crawled away from prison unnoticed amidst all the chaos! But he knew about medical terms and how to suture, and viruses.

Cold terror froze Blair's blood.

A lot about this virus… more than he could have possibly learnt during the few chaotic hours he said he'd spent working on non infected patients in the ER…

Holy fuck.

…he could be the one behind it all…

A/N Happy Holidays to everyone. My neck of the woods is pretty busy right about now, so I thank you for your continued patience and support of the story! :)

(I'll try to update Mahogany before the week is out, but it's looking pretty slim)

Lynne