Dan stopped, frowning, as he realised that the girl at the other end of the corridor was Sarah. He called her name, hurrying after her. He hadn't seen her - again - since yesterday. Where did she keep disappearing to?

He just caught the end of her conversation - something about masks - with a man; one who didn't for a second look like he belonged in third class. Dan thought he recognised him, but he'd disappeared before he could remember where from.

Sarah turned to him, and he could've sworn he saw her roll her eyes. "Dan. What is it?"

He paused. "I was just wondering where you'd got to."

"I've been busy."

Now that he'd neared her, he was close enough to see that there was something strange about her eyes; they weren't entirely in focus. And there was a smell; something sweet that made his nose instantly wrinkle. A smell he'd never come into direct contact with, but had caught on occasion from the seedier buildings in his neighborhood.

His eyes widened. "Is that...opium?"

"What?" She pulled away from him, irritated. "No. Of course not."

But the smell was undeniable; "Yes," he said slowly, staring at her - "It is. I can smell it on your dress."

Her eyes narrowed on him, and he noticed a glitter in them that he'd never seen before. It sent an unexpected chill down his spine; he moved back, unconsciously.

"And what if it is?" There was something sinister about her voice; an edge of malice to it that didn't sound anything like the Sarah he knew.

He shook his head. "You can't be serious." Perhaps it was the effect of the drug talking? It had to be. "Sarah...you have to know how dangerous that is. Opium kills people. Not to mention how addictive-"

"Speaking from personal experience, are you?" she drawled. There was idle disdain written all over her face; she regarded him, lip curling with nasty amusement.

He took another step back. Who was this person? "Sarah," he said, firmly, "You need help."

"What I need," she corrected, sneering, "Is for you to leave me alone."

"What?"

"You don't ever stop following me around, do you?" she groaned. "Getting in the way with your pathetic attempts to play the hero."

He stared at her, stunned; and he started to feel the first prickles of anger. She couldn't be serious. "All I've done is try to help you-"

Sarah sighed condescendingly. "Yes, Dan, and you've helped me. I got the ticket I needed, and a suitable traveling companion. But that's all I need." She turned, dismissing him with a snort. "I have no further use for you"

Dan went still, fists clenching at his sides. "You used me." He couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to fall for it. The lying -

She actually laughed. "Oh, Daniel. You're so sickeningly naive." Her face taunted him. "Like a kicked puppy." She patted his cheek, and he flinched at her touch. Backed away from her, shaking his head.

"You're despicable."

She tilted her head, chuckling horribly again. How had he ever seen any innocence or kindness in those blue eyes? "Yes, I am. So do yourself a favour, and stay out of my way."

They'd managed to be unfailingly polite to each other; their parents should have been proud. Blair was all smiles, Chuck all bows - he'd offered to get her a drink, and she'd complimented him on his tails. They could be civil. They could do this. (Provided Chuck's lips didn't linger too long on her hand, or his hands too long after he'd tucked her chair in).

Blair had engrossed herself in talking to the socialite to her left - and her brother - throughout dinner. She was bored out of her mind. But it helped keep her resolution to not look at Chuck. And since the socialite was the awful Penelope, she could focus on retorting sweetly to the other girl's attempts at put downs, rather than on a certain pair of dark eyes. And her brother, Cameron, was nice enough - even if she'd hardly listened to a word he'd said.

Chuck watched as she laughed at yet another of Cameron's jokes, and felt it again; that flicker of anoyance. Was she trying to provoke him? He'd agreed to do what she'd asked, hadn't he?

So why did she need to rub it in his face, now?

He could tell she wasn't remotely interested in anything this Cameron had to say, but it didn't stop her from keeping her gaze on him the entire meal, and apparently, laughing at his inane jokes. He'd just made one about the partridge, for God's sake. Poultry jokes? Perhaps it shouldn't have grated quite as much as it did, but it was like she was trying to make him jealous. And for what - to torture him?

Well, two could play at that game.

He turned his gaze to the taller, darker brunette at her side. "So," he murmured, leaning across the table. "How are you enjoying the partridge?"

Penelope smiled at him between slanted eyes. "Delicious," she replied, gazing back at his lips as she slowly licked her own.

Blair stiffened. What was he doing? And why was he doing it with Penelope, of all people?

Penelope's gaze flickered to Blair's empty plate; "It looks like Blair enjoyed it too," she smirked. (Actually, Blair's plate was empty because she hadn't had any - and Chuck knew that). "I didn't realise you had such a large appetite."

Chuck's eyes narrowed then, agenda temporarily forgotten - but before he could say anything, Blair had responded acidly, just for Penelope to hear; "Well, I wish I could say the same about your nose."

Chuck hid a snort at the expression on Penelope's face. But then Blair turned back to Cameron, and started to engage him in conversation once more.

He wanted a reaction. He wanted a hint of anything that suggested he could somehow affect her like she did him. Anything but that polite indifference - she could not ignore him. "I hope I'll see you at the masquerade," he addressed Penelope, this time not even glancing at Blair.

"I wouldn't miss it," she smirked back.

"Save me a dance?"

Blair tried very hard not to glower, suddenly overcome with the urge to stab her fork into Penelope's hand, which was currently fluttering at Chuck. The other girl practically leaned across her to murmur back, "Of course."

So much for Penelope's aversion to new money. Blair knew she'd been secretly desperate for some Bass attention. Well, Chuck was giving her that. She tried to glare at him, but he was either oblivious or ignoring her. She suspected the latter. Why was she even surprised? It was Chuck. Although, she decided spitefully, Penelope was low - even by his standards. She'd thought he at least had some discrepancy.

Not that she cared. She shouldn't have cared. Except - except it hurt. It hurt her even more that she hadn't expected it; that she'd somehow thought, after last night -

It was callous, even for him.

Chuck shot a glance at Blair, and paused when he saw the expression on her face. He'd definitely got her attention - but he hadn't been prepared for the hurt in her eyes. Whatever reaction he'd wanted, he realised, it wasn't that one.

She caught him looking and sent back a look of disgust.

Bart had been watching, with increasing exasperation, as his son made a mess of the entire situation. He didn't know what was going on between them - but whatever the hell Chuck was playing at, he was being an idiot. Bart highly doubted Eleanor would be impressed when she noticed how heavily he was flirting with that other girl. Blair looked about ready to kill him.

"Charles," he intervened coolly. "Blair looks half frozen. Why don't you go and fetch her a shawl?"

His tone was pointed. Best to get his fool of a son away before he did any more damage; maybe the walk back to the cabins would clear his head.

Blair opened her mouth to refuse - she didn't know what Bart was talking about, since being cold was never a problem when she was around him - but Eleanor answered for her with a smile.

"How gallant, Charles. Thank you."

Clearly, Eleanor's impression of him as a gentleman had been reassured. Now Blair regretted not telling her he'd done something - she would've liked to see quite how smarmy he was after Eleanor castrated him.

Penelope was still smirking at him - she hoped the whore gave him syphilis. Chuck, however, was no longer even looking at Penelope. His gaze stayed on Blair. Why had she looked hurt? She was the one who -

"Charles," Bart prompted in a warning undertone.

Stiffly, Chuck got to his feet. "Of course." Blair was still glowering back at him, chin set. "Anything for you."

The lounge of the Bass apartments connected through to the Waldorfs' by a latched door, which Chuck had been planning to use - but he came a halt as he saw something out of place. The front door to the Waldorfs' was open. He frowned; there was no way Eleanor would have forgotten to lock her door. Not with her clothes and jewelry inside.

Cautiously, he approached, pushing the door further open to enter. A maid wouldn't be cleaning this late. "Hello?" The room inside was dark; he felt for the switch, flooding it with light. And froze.

The room had been completely ravaged.

Dresses and pearls lay scattered all over the floor, the upholstery slashed and all of the drapery pulled clean off the walls. The little tables had been overturned and the lamps knocked down. Something crunched under Chuck's foot as he moved further into the wreckage; smashed glass. Tensed, his back prickling with unease, he eased open the door to the bedroom.

It was in a similar state; bedcovers torn off and the pillows ripped to shreds. There was even earth from the shattered plant pots smeared over the sheets. And the overwhelming scent of Blair, where her perfume bottle lay cracked on the floor.

It had all the deranged and mindless devastation of one person.

Then he noticed the mirror. There was a sizable fracture in it, a white scrap of material thrown over the edge - and, written in bright pink lipstick over the disjointed surface - a shade he'd never seen Blair wear - were the words you're next.

And, as if he'd needed any more confirmation, scrawled underneath it - a large, curling G.

He suddenly heard a noise behind him and spun round. The room was empty. Then a door creaked, somewhere; he moved swiftly back into the lounge - just in time to see the front door swing closed.

"Hey!"

He broke into a run, yanking the door open - there was a brief blur of red, a figure already disappearing down the darkened corridor. He raced after it, furiously, paying little heed to the corners he turned as he pounded through them. He realised, finally, that he'd lost it (or rather, her). He came to a stop, heart thumping, straining to see. There was no sign of her, though; she'd vanished.

The corridor was empty save for his breathing.

Then something brushed his back; he whirled round, wildly, grabbing whoever it was on instinct, ready to seize them - a pair of brown eyes, widened in alarm, stared up at him -

"Chuck! It's me."

Blair.

He stared back down at her, feeling his heartbeat return to normal. He was still gripping her arms; he loosened his hold, though he didn't let go.

"What are you doing here?"

Had she seen Georgina?

She was too distracted by the expression on his face to pull her wrists out of his hands, regarding him with still wide eyes.

"I - Eleanor sent me. They've already finished dinner."

(Actually, Eleanor hadn't sent her. Penelope had started to gather her things, clearly intending to leave, as soon as the meal was over - with a glance at Chuck's empty seat - and Blair had leapt to her feet before she could, telling them she'd go and check he wasn't having difficulties locating her shawl. Because, even though she should have left them to it, the thought of Penelope going after him was almost too much to take).

"Right." Chuck realised, dimly, that he must have ended up in the corridor adjacent to the dining room. Blair was still staring at him.

"What were you doing?"

Chuck went in first - he wasn't taking chances this time, even if he had apparently chased her out. He heard Blair's sudden intake of breath behind him. He reached out a hand to stop her, moving towards the bedroom. It was all clear, though - Blair stared round at it in horror.

Her eyes fell, too, to the mirror. But she went even closer to inspect it, lifting up the white material. It was a maid's apron.

Her breath suddenly caught. "Eloise."

Chuck glanced at her.

"The maid," she murmured. "The girl I asked for information on Georgina - the one who disappeared after I got pushed. She's been missing since that night." What had Georgina done to her? Her eyes met Chuck's, then flickered back to the words on the mirror. You're next.

Chuck followed them, and immediately shook his head. No. "She's just trying to scare us," he insisted softly, trying to calm the fear in her eyes. "It's Georgina. You know her flair for the dramatic." And this, surely, was the height of dramatic.

Blair, however, was gradually nearing the verge of hysteria - those were her clothes and her possessions ripped all over the floor, and that maid was still missing - and Chuck, Chuck the idiot had followed that lunatic into an empty corridor, which was exactly how she'd ended up being pushed - and if Chuck had -

"Well, she's done that!" Her voice had risen, almost uncontrollable; "Chuck, she was in our rooms! Why did you run after her? Why, when this room alone is proof that she's insane?"

"Blair-"

"How could you be so stupid?" She was close to losing it, now; he caught her elbows, cutting her off.

"Blair." His voice was very low and firm. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

"I know nothing's going to happen to me," she snapped. "I'm not the one chasing madwomen." But she was, unconsciously, distracted by the warmth of his hands; the feel of them wrapped round her arms was already soothing her a little.

He stared at her. Then he glanced down, with an attempt at wryness - though he didn't quite meet her gaze; "Don't tell me you're concerned about my safety, now."

She looked back at him. "Of course I am." It was meant to be another snap, but her voice had somehow gone funny; it caught, instead, trembling slightly.

Their gazes locked, silence as they regarded each other; and Chuck's throat was suddenly too full to speak.

"What on earth is going on?"

They both flinched at Eleanor's shriek - and then the woman herself appeared in the doorway, horrified. And as her appalled gaze landed on the two of them, so close; "Blair? Charles? What's the meaning of this?"

Blair hastily pulled herself away from Chuck. "We don't know, mother - Chuck found the room like this when he came to get-"

"What happened?"

She was cut off by Bart's arrival; he was considerably more collected than Eleanor, but even his impassive face registered shock as he surveyed the room. His eyes moved straight to his son. "Charles. Explain this."

Chuck exchanged a glance with Blair. "Someone broke in."

"Who?" Eleanor demanded. "Who would do this?"

Chuck looked to his father again. At the infallible reassurance of his stern face and cold blue eyes; because they were out of their league, he realised. This had gone far enough already. But if Bart decided to do something, he would keep Georgina away. Because once Bart gave an order, it was carried out. His father would take care of it.

"We think it was a girl from third class." He addressed Bart, though his eyes slid to Blair's - "Sarah Humphrey."

Eleanor frowned. "And who's she?"

Bart glanced at the mirror and the words on it before glancing back at his son. "Let me guess," he sighed, eyebrows raised; "A scorned lover?"

Blair and Chuck exchanged another glance. "Something like that." Chuck stepped forwards. "Look, father. She's clearly deranged - she must be jealous of Blair, and she obviously means her harm."

Eleanor peered around the room, stopping at her daughter with a creased brow. "Well, if what she's done here is anything to go by."

"She needs to be stopped."

The best thing about all of this was that they wouldn't even need proof. Because as Sarah Humphrey, from third class, Georgina had no standing against four first class passengers. Especially if two of those were Bart Bass and Eleanor Waldorf.

Bart didn't hesitate. "Call the custodian."

Dan was stunned to learn the next morning that Sarah had been locked up. According the girls she'd been sharing with, four armed custodians had come into the cabin late that night, and escorted her off the premises. She'd been accused of breaking into and vandalizing the rooms of one of the first class passengers.

And Dan was even more amazed to learn that the particular passengers were none other than the Waldorfs. It was the strangest coincidence.

Blair understood the principle of going to morning tea. They were Waldorfs, and they would keep their heads up, not hide - people didn't tell Waldorfs who they were, they told them. It had been instilled into her enough times by her mother. But that didn't make the hour any more enjoyable. Particularly as Penelope was back with a vengeance, still simmering with resentment from last night and determined to be as spiteful as possible.

So it was with sheer relief that Blair set down her tea cup and got up to leave the claustrophobic room; she had to restrain herself from the temptation to elbow her way past the other ladies.

And, to her surprise, Chuck was waiting for her when she got out. He caught her eye, smiling, faintly, and made his way straight over - straight past Penelope - to hold out his arm.

She linked hers through it, glancing up at him. "You're in a good mood," she commented drily. Mainly to cover up the strange somersaults her stomach was doing as he guided her out onto the deck. Because there was something about Chuck's real smile that melted her insides.

She remembered when she'd first admitted to herself, secretly, that she could fall in love with that smile. (That she already had). They'd been in his car, on the way back from an event - Nate's excuse that time was that he'd been too tired to attend. Chuck had pulled her onto his lap, hands wrapping round her waist; and, giggling, she'd twined her arms round his neck and let him kiss a path over her shoulder, easing down the strap of her dress. She couldn't even remember what she'd said to make him laugh - all she remembered was straddling the solid heat of his body as he held her, gazing down into hazel eyes that were alight in the passing street lights; and that smile, transforming his whole face, as he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

She was sure that couldn't have been the last time she'd seen his real smile; but, at the moment, it was the only one that stayed in her mind. Nearly three years ago.

And she couldn't help it; couldn't help the slight glow that spread because she'd seen it again, and it had been aimed at her and her alone.

"Well, I've just been down in the brig."

Her eyes whipped to his immediately, narrowing - but he cut her off before she could say anything. "Don't worry, there was no direct contact. I just wanted to make sure she really was locked up."

"And how did you achieve that?" she asked suspiciously.

He tried not to enjoy (too much) the fact that she was actually, genuinely, concerned for him. "I looked through a window," he assured her. "And it was definitely whore-gina."

Blair relaxed, a little. "Good."

"And how has your morning been?" he teased. He'd recognised all the signs of Waldorf tension as she'd left the room, written in every inch of her body. Which was why, when she'd looked up and seen him, he hadn't been able to contain a smile at the look of pleased surprise on her face.

And the truth was, he was in a good mood; he wasn't sure if it was the removal of the Georgina threat - coupled with the reassurance of his father's handling - or what she'd said to him last night. Or perhaps it was as simple as strolling across the sunlit deck with her arm tucked in his.

"It could have been better," she answered darkly, thinking of Penelope. Then she remembered the expression on the other girl's face as Chuck had ignored her - he hadn't even noticed. She smiled silently.

"I'm sure the masquerade will turn it around," he mused. "All those dresses and costumes...just think; you can be as rude as you like, and no one will even know it's you."

She couldn't resist smirking, at that. But she couldn't stop herself - couldn't stop the faint edge of bitterness as she retorted, "And you can dance with as many girls as you like."

He glanced at her - surely that couldn't be jealousy on her face? He chuckled, low in his throat. She looked at him in surprise; he was gazing back at her with an expression that was half amused, and half something she couldn't quite read. They reached the far end of the deck, at the ship's prow, and gazed out over the waves for a moment in silence. Then he murmured, right in her ear; "Don't worry, all my dances are saved for you."

Her heart did that strange somersault thing again. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin; how did that simple sentence have the power to take hers away? She remembered herself, hastily, and managed to snap back, "I wasn't worried. You can dance with whomever you please."

Her eyes didn't match her mouth, though, and they both knew it. Smirking, he pulled her arm a little closer and led her back down the deck. He intended on dancing with exactly who he pleased - and that was the glowering brunette (who was trying very hard not to smile) at his side.

George froze in alarm as he recognised Mr. Baizen striding towards him. Oh, no - that was not what he needed -

"George." The man's smile caught him in his tracks, despite its apparent amicability. "How have you been?"

"I - uh-"

The answer to that question was, in fact, awful. His superior had found out that he'd been slacking on the job - he hadn't been able to switch shifts, so had resorted to simply avoiding the Bass corridor whilst on duty - the night that the Waldorfs' cabin had been broken into. He felt bad enough that someone had slipped through because of him, but he'd now been demoted to staying below deck and told he'd have half his wages docked.

"I hear you had a run in with Mr. Bass." George's eyes widened with fear - but, to his surprise, the look in Mr. Baizen's was sympathetic. "Let me guess. He treated you like a piece of dirt on the floor."

George flushed, just remembering. "He threatened to have me thrown off the ship," he whispered.

Baizen shook his head. "That sounds just like him," he sighed. "He never changes. He's still exactly the same with me."

George blinked - "With you?"

"I'm from Queens," Carter explained wryly; George stared at him in amazement.

"But I thought you were-"

"From the Upper East Side? No, that's just them. I used to be even poorer than you are now. And Bass will never let me forget that." He shook his head again; "They treat anyone who's not from the same background like vermin. They'll step on any of us to get what they want - and Bass is the worst one of all. Just look at what he did to that poor Humphrey girl."

He had George absolutely hooked now - "The one who broke into the Waldorfs'? But she-"

Carter gave him a pitying look. "Broke in? You really think a girl did all that? Did they even have proof, other than Bass' word?"

"I don't understand. Why would he-"

"I know Sarah," Baizen sighed. "The truth is, we grew up in Queens together. She wouldn't tell me directly what happened, but...there was something between her and Mr. Bass. And, obviously, he doesn't want the Waldorfs to find out. It would ruin everything."

"So he just had her locked up?" George was horrified. "But then...who did destroy the room?"

Carter raised an eyebrow. "He probably did it himself."

George just gaped.

Carter leaned a little closer, his voice suddenly urgent. "Look, I came down here for a reason. I want to save Sarah." Before George could say anything, he went on; "I know you have a master key to all the rooms."

George automatically took a step back. "Mr. Baizen, I really can't..."

"I understand. I know what a difficult position it would put you in. But Sarah doesn't have anyone else. She's all alone, trapped in that room, for a crime she didn't commit. If I can just get her out of there, then I can guarantee her safety. All Bass wants is her out of the way - and I can help her disappear." His eyes held the young custodian's, low and persuasive. "Please help me."

George was torn; "I'm sorry, Mr. Baizen. I really want to - but I could lose my job. I'd lose everything."

Carter pulled out an envelope. "What if I gave you this?" He held it in front of him, gaze unwavering. "One thousand dollars."

George felt faint just at the sound of the amount. "I couldn't-"

"I know what it's like to have nothing. I want to help you, George." He pushed the envelope into the other man's hands, cutting off his protests. "If you help me."

It took rounding one corridor for both of their good moods to suddenly evaporate. There was a couple coming up the walkway, clearly young and in love - with a baby clasped between them.

The baby started wailing and Blair flinched, without realising; Chuck, meanwhile, was trying hard not to look at it. He'd already glanced, taken in the little face and dark hair; his jaw clenched, unconsciously. The couple moved past them, disappearing round the corner - leaving them in an empty corridor that still echoed with the baby's cries.

Blair's arm was still in Chuck's, but it had gone slightly limp.

She cleared her throat and removed it. "Well, I'd better go and get ready for lunch."

It was ridiculous; that after all this time, the sight of a mere baby could do this to them.

But Chuck had to struggle to find his voice, and when he did, he barely even knew what he was saying. "I'll see you then." Not even what he wanted to say - but she'd already turned and fled. He stared after her, jaw still clenched, teeth ground together. That wasn't what he'd wanted to say at all.

Blair smoothed her dress over her hips, staring at her reflection in the mirror. It was a new mirror, thankfully - after a night in the Bass apartments, the wreckage of their room had been cleaned up, and the broken furniture replaced. Eleanor had been relieved - their masquerade costumes had managed to escape damage.

Blair's was a pure white creation, shot through with gold in a flowing mixture of lace and silk. A delicate gold mask completed the outfit, her dark curls pulled up with gold ribbon and studded with small white flowers. It had been the last costume she'd wanted to wear, standing in the dress shop only a few weeks after Nate's death. Too pure, too brilliant. She had to admit, though, that the overall effect was -

"Beautiful," Eleanor announced contentedly.

Blair turned, and realised, amazed, that her mother was looking at her.

"You look beautiful, darling."

They both surveyed her reflection, and Blair couldn't prevent the light flush of pleasure. Her mother thought she looked beautiful. There was, for once, no criticism in Eleanor's eyes - just satisfaction. She lifted her daughter's chin, clasping her cheeks. "I don't think Charles will be able to keep his eyes off you."

Blair wasn't so convinced, given what had happened earlier today - but the thought was enough to light her up, even if she'd never have admitted it.

In the next room, Chuck drew a deep breath before knocking on his father's door. His dark hair was already slicked back, dressed in a jet black suit set with silver detail matching his silver mask.

Bart glanced at his son as he entered. "Charles?"

"Father." Chuck swallowed. "I just came to ask if...I could have mother's necklace."

After the Humphrey incident, Chuck had returned it to their rooms - since it had hardly been the time for presenting necklaces any more. His father hadn't said anything; and it had taken Chuck till the next day to realise that it had disappeared from the table he'd set it down on. Bart had obviously taken it back.

His father regarded him closely. "To give to Blair?"

Chuck wanted to give her something to make up for what he'd failed to say earlier. The truth was that he didn't really know what he wanted to say; and he was still afraid, still afraid to tell her - but he wanted to show her. She needed to know. What he'd realised for himself when he'd seen the baby today; it had still hurt, an old ache - but he didn't want to see the pain in her eyes. He didn't know how to tell her that he'd forgiven her - but he wanted her to know.

He cleared his throat, though his face was set. Determined to prove himself. "Yes."

He studied Bart's face, almost afraid of what he'd see. There was a silence; Bart turned away. Chuck went rigid, closing his eyes. Why had he thought any different -

"Charles."

His eyes snapped open - Bart was holding out the box, a wry smile on his face.

Stunned, Chuck took it.

Bart rested a brief hand on his shoulder - the most physical contact he'd had with his son in years. "Don't mess it up." Chuck glanced up at him - but there was no disapproval in his eyes. His face was expressionless as ever, but his eyes told another story. They were - ever so faintly - smiling at him.

Blair was distracted from applying her final touches of make up by a knock on the door.

"Blair," her mother called from her room - she was still dressing.

"I'm going," Blair sighed. She adjusted her hair, rising to the front door. It couldn't be Bart and Chuck already - it wasn't even half seven yet. She pulled the door open, and came to a stop.

There, standing on the threshold, was Carter Baizen.

She opened her mouth to ask what, exactly, he was doing; but he stepped aside before she could make a sound, to reveal a pair of glittering blue eyes behind him. She froze.

Georgina smiled pleasantly.

"Hello, Blair."

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