Author's Note: Here's chapter 9! I'm not completely happy with it, but here it is anyway. Chapter 10 should be up by the end of the month.

Blair rushed out of the restaurant after the initial shock and awe wore off. With her Givenchy coat barely on one arm, she hailed a taxi, shouted an address at the driver, and took a deep breath. Bart Bass is dead. I think it's safe to say Chuck's not going to handle this well.

She stared out the taxicab window, taking in the familiar sights to soothe herself. Her nerves were frayed, and she didn't want the stress to be passed along to the baby. She felt her daughter kick, and quickly rubbed her belly. "Calm down little one," she whispered. "I'm sure daddy will be fine."

"Miss, we're here."

"Thank you," she said as she threw a fifty at him. She flung open the door and awkwardly made her way out. Blair was well into her sixth month of pregnancy and had found it hard to do even the most basic things.

She made her way through the lobby, into the elevator, and down the hall to Chuck's suite. Pausing, she thought about what she'd say to him when he opened the door. The truth was, she wasn't sure there was anything she could say. She rapt at the door, but nobody answered.

"Chuck, it's me," she croaked. "Serena called and I…" she paused as the door opened. Her boyfriend stood on the other side, eyes red and clothes rumpled. Although she couldn't see the whisky bottle, she was certain he'd been drinking. Blair touched his cheek, and he fell into her like a wounded child. "Shh," she whispered.

xxxx

Two days passed in a hurry, and Chuck had not yet left his suite. Although she was heavily pregnant, Blair took it upon herself to be his liaison to the outside world. One day before the funeral was set to take place, she took a meeting with the visibly frazzled Lily.

"How is Charles doing?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. He won't shower, but I finally got him to intake something other than vodka."

"I want Charles to speak at the service. I know he and Bart often had a troubled relationship, but I think they knew each other best. I know Bart would have loved his only son to give a speech."

"I'll pass it along, but I doubt he'll do it. I've never seen him this broken before," her voice cracked.

"Just please ask him to consider it."

"Of course."

xxxx

"I'm back," Blair shouted as she flopped down on Chuck's king-sized bed. She kicked off her shoes and thumbed through what may have been the only non-pornographic magazine in the suite. Chuck emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel. "I see you're back to showering. Congratulations."

He sat down next to her, a pained expression on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't think I can do this," he scratched out.

"Do what?"

"The funeral, school, the baby: anything."

"Chuck, you're in a lot of pain right now. You're confused and grieving."

"I think this is the clearest my mind's been in a long time. My father always said I was a screw-up. I guess it's only a matter of time before I prove him right."

"Your dad loved you! He may not have always made it known, but he did."

"What do you know, Blair? Do you have any idea how many times he told me I'd never amount to anything? I tried to be a good son and live up to his expectations, but that wasn't good enough. Now what do I have to show for it? No parents, no self-esteem, and a bastard child before my 18th birthday!"

"You have me," she shouted. She took his hand and placed it on her belly. "We didn't plan this baby, Chuck, but this is a really good thing! I've seen the way you stare at the ultrasound, and the way you talk to her. She's your daughter; you're family. We're your family. There's no way your father didn't love you. This kid's not even out of the womb and you're already over-the-moon in love with her."

"I just can't deal with everything right now. I need to get away," he said as he motioned to a suitcase in the corner. Blair choked on her spit with surprise.

"So, what, you're just going to leave? Your dad's funeral is tomorrow. You don't even want to say goodbye?"

"No."

"That's it then? Things get too real and you jump ship? I've been walking on eggshells for the past few days trying to help you through this, and you repay me by leaving?"

Chuck looked down with a look of self-loathing on his face. "I'm sorry. I bought a ticket to Thailand. I don't know when I'll be back. I just can't be here, Blair. Everything in this goddamn city reminds me of the failure I am. My father wouldn't have wanted me at his funeral anyway."

"If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back! I can't keep dealing with your shit, Chuck. If you leave, don't expect us to be waiting for you when you return."

"I'm sorry," he whispered again as he walked back into the bathroom.

xxxx

The walk back to her penthouse had been the longest twenty minutes of Blair's life. As the elevator doors opened, revealing the familiar décor, she couldn't help but let out a wailing sob.

"Miss Blair," Dorota bellowed," what's wrong?" Dorota took Blair by the hand and led her to the couch.

"I think Chuck left me," she cried. Dorota frantically searched for a tissue, and upon finding one, handed it to Blair.

"Miss Blair, I'm sure this is mistake. Mr. Chuck love you and baby."

"The only mistake was me thinking he'd changed. He's not even sticking around for his dad's funeral. I can't believe I was so stupid."

"I'm sure Mr. Chuck will come around. How about I run bubble bath for you?"

"That would be nice."

As soon as Dorota got Blair into her bath, she ran back downstairs and found Blair's phone. She looked in the phonebook, found the number she was looking for, and dialed.

"Hello," Nate answered.

"Hello, Mr. Nate. This is Dorota. I need favor, for Miss Blair."

"Um, sure. What is it?"

"I need you to find Mr. Chuck. He left Miss Blair."

"Do you know where he is?"

"He leaves for Bangkok tonight. Please hurry. Miss Blair is very upset. Is bad for the baby."

"Of course."

xxxx

Nate wasn't sure where to start on his search for Chuck, so he began at the most likely place: the Palace. He made his way up to suite 1812 and noticed the door was ajar. Intrigued, he pushed it open the rest of the way.

Inside, Chuck's clothes were strewn about, and a Louis Vuitton suitcase was sitting atop the bed.

"Chuck," he called out. He walked through the room, noting the empty alcohol bottles by the bar.

"Nathaniel, what are you doing here?"

"Chuck, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm packing. I'm leaving on a jet plane: can't say when I'll be back again."

"Look, I know you're hurting right now, but you're in no condition to be making these rash decisions. You can't just leave New York."

"I have a credit card that begs to differ, buddy." Chuck tripped over a silk shirt and barely caught himself.

"Are you drunk?"

"Little bit."

"Dorota sent me. She's worried about what you're doing to Blair."

"Oh Dorota! Where would we be without her? She's the eyes and ears of the fucking Upper East Side! You tell Dorota that Blair will be fine. In fact, she'll be better off without me. I'm a screw-up, didn't you know that Nathaniel?"

"Blair's not going to be better off without you, man. You've got a baby coming in a few months. She needs you to help her."

"This kid needs a semblance of a normal life. I can't give that to her! Blair's going to be a great mom. Maybe she'll marry a nice, well-adjusted attorney who will raise my daughter. Hey, maybe you could marry her!"

"Chuck, this is your opportunity to prove to your father that you're not a failure! The best thing you can do to prove him wrong is to be the best dad you can be. Don't just stay for Blair; stay for your daughter. That little girl will be living proof that you're a good person. As far as I'm concerned, the only way you're a failure is if you leave."

Chuck settled onto his bed, pushing the luggage to the floor. "I don't deserve them."

"I don't know if that's true, but I do know this: if you don't go see Blair now, you'll never be able to fix things."

"I'm a little tipsy right now. Would you mind accompanying me?"

"Absolutely."

xxxx

As Chuck rode the elevator up to the Waldorf penthouse, he realized he'd never been so nervous in his life. The doors opened, and he took a deep breath. He marched into the living room where he saw Blair sprawled on the couch.

"Blair," he started. She turned towards him, and he saw the tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I…"

"Don't even start with me Chuck. Do you have any idea what you've put me through?"

"I'm sorry; I'm just trying to…"

"Stop talking," she yelled. "I don't want to hear your excuses. I know how much pain you're in, and I know what your dad put you through. I'm willing to, uh, forgive you this time, but only because your dad's funeral is tomorrow. If you even breathe when I tell you not to, we're done. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," he gasped. He rushed towards her and pulled her into his arms.

xxxx

Funerals on the Upper East Side were always a bit of a zoo. When a wealthy, well-known billionaire died, they were complete and utter chaos. As Chuck, Blair, and the van Der Woodsen's stepped out of their limo, they were bombarded by the media. Chuck rushed past them, pushing their microphones and their how are you coping's out of his space.

He took his seat on the first pew of the church, pulling Blair in next to him. He smiled at Nate and grasped Lily's hand as she sat on his other side.

The minister began his speech about life and death, heaven and hell. "It's no doubt Bart is looking down on us from Heaven." Chuck couldn't help but snicker.

"Bart took immense pride in his successful business ventures, but took even more pride in his only son, Charles. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Bass on several occasions, and each time he gushed about what a mini-mogul Charles was turning into. He couldn't wait for the day he could hand over the company to his beloved son."

Blair squeezed Chuck's hand and glanced at him. She was shocked when she saw he was tearing up.

Author's Note Part Deux: If anyone's interested, I had a song in mind for the funeral scene: Details in the Fabric by Jason Mraz. Check it out; it's fantastic.