Blair woke up to a stiff neck and a mouthful of blonde hair in her face.

She reached out, expecting to find silk sheets and the heat of her husband - and was temporarily disorientated as she recognised the snoring figure of her best friend. Then the fact that they were apparently on a floor (a dusty floor, at that) in an empty room. And there was morning light filtering through the window...

Morning. She jerked up, horrified. It couldn't be morning, not already. She'd spent the whole night in Humphrey's gallery in Brooklyn? Her thoughts flew straight to Chuck – God only knew what he thought she was doing. She'd been out all night.

She shoved at Serena's arm, trying to get her to wake up. "S! We have to get home. Now!"

Serena grumbled sleepily, and Blair rolled her eyes. She'd forgotten how impossible the blonde was to rouse.

"Serena," she hissed. "Move!"

She had to get to Chuck and apologise. She had to talk to him.

Serena was still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she walked into a rather tense scene in her penthouse. Blair had already hurried to her own home, desperate to get to Chuck before he went to work - and Serena stopped in surprise, now. Surprise laced with uncertainty.

Carter Baizen was in her front room.

Talking to Dan.

Or rather, snapping at Dan. "How can you not know where they are? You didn't think it was at all odd when she didn't come home last night?"

But Dan was equally annoyed. "Well, of course I did. I assumed she'd ended up at Blair's - I've already sent several messages over there! I was about to call for the-"

"Well, maybe if you'd bothered going over there," Carter sneered over him, "You'd have seen that the place is empty."

Dan bristled with fury. "I have a daughter to look after!"

Carter looked as though he were about to say something nasty, then, but Serena made her presence known. She gazed between the two of them. "What's going on?"

Shock, closely followed by relief, entered two pairs of eyes - though Dan was quick to get to her before Carter did. "Serena. Where have you been?"

She stepped gratefully into his embrace, still a little too aware of Carter's presence. Carter looked away as she squeezed Dan's hands. "I'm sorry," she apologised. "I was with Blair at the gallery. We fell asleep."

Dan blinked in confusion. "The gallery? What on earth-"

"Where's Blair now?" Carter cut him off.

Serena turned her eyes to him; but he refused direct acknowledgement, and it made her heart sink a little. She didn't want him to hate her. "She went home. Why? What's wrong?"

Blair hurried along the corridor that led to Chuck's office. He wasn't at home, and her heart had further plummeted when she'd seen that the bed looked unslept in from where she'd left it the night before. The empty penthouse had just been depressing. Her chest constricted at the thought that he'd either spent all night working, or had decided to drown his sorrows somewhere. What had he thought - that she was refusing to come home?

She just prayed now that he was in the office. The rest of the building was deserted save the doormen - it was still too early for the rest of the employees.

She grasped the doorknob without bothering to knock, heading straight in.

And then she came to an abrupt stop.

Because Adrian Montgommery was standing at her husband's desk, rifling through his papers. He turned as she entered, and she didn't miss the gleam that crossed his eyes as he took her in. Alone.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, furious. "Sneaking around?"

He lifted his hands in defense, dropping the papers as he moved towards her. He was trying to calm her down, but she found herself backing away instinctively. He stopped, as though hurt by her reaction. "Blair," he said softly. "I wasn't sneaking around. I just had to get some important documents."

"From my husband's office?" she seethed.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," he insisted. "Just-"

"Don't bother," she cut in before he could finish. She regarded him coldly. "I know what you're up to. And I can promise you that soon Chuck will, too."

Montgommery tilted his head for a moment. She didn't know? Then he sighed. "Look, I'm sure he's told you all kinds of things - and I don't blame him. I've no doubt that he hates me now. But like I said to him yesterday - I don't have a choice. I can't just overlook this."

Blair's lip curled. "Overlook what?"

So he told her about the fraud charges, increasingly satisfied with the look of horror on her face. She tried the same line as Chuck had, too - you're lying.

"Ask Mr. Bass," Adrian shook his head wearily. "He's seen the proof for himself." He paused for a moment while he took in her stricken appearance. She'd gone white and shaky - hard exterior notwithstanding - her brown eyes even bigger than usual. "Blair," he said again, moving closer - and she flinched.

"Mrs. Bass," she hissed at him.

"I really am sorry," he murmured. "I...The truth is, I haven't done it yet. I had to tell Chuck I would, and I really should...but, I just can't bring myself to."

Blair gave him a sharp look. "Then don't." There was still overwhelming distrust there - but he'd seen it. The briefest flash of desperation. This was going to work, he was sure.

"I care about you," he whispered. "I can't help myself. I liked you from the first moment I saw you. You're beautiful, sharp, intelligent..." He was aware that none of this was exactly a lie, but brushed that aside. "I can see why Chuck likes having you on his arm. I suppose...you remind me of my wife."

But for some reason, that was exactly the wrong thing to say - because her eyes suddenly blazed with the contempt that had been building in them as he talked.

"Drop the act," she bit. Her tone was like ice. "I know the truth."

He paused again, and then realisation crossed his face. He pulled a wry smile. "Mr. Baizen. Of course." He let out another sigh. "Look, you know he despises me. He stole money from me. Chuck knows he can't be trusted - you must see the same thing?"

Blair just snorted. "Oh, don't even try it."

"Blair," he attempted again. "I want to be your friend. I don't want to hurt you. Do you understand what I'm saying?" She paused, working out what he was driving at - and he took the opportunity to catch her hand. "Just meet me tonight. Please."

She jerked away instantly. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I want to help you," he stressed. "If you meet me tonight..."

"What?" Because she'd worked out what he'd been building up to now. "You'll drop the charges?" Yes, she realised, sickeningly, as his silence stetched out. Her voice nearly shook with hatred. "Listen to me, Mr. Montgommery. I don't want to come within a foot of you ever again." She pulled herself upright, putting as much distance between them as she could. "Chuck's going to destroy you," she promised. "And I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."

Adrian lowered his head. "I gave you the chance, Blair. I tried."

"And the answer," she enuncuiated, "Is no. So you can take your disgusting deal and get out."

But she was still shaken, he could tell. He was going to say something else, but they were interupted when the door opened and Baizen appeared.

He took in the scene between narrowed eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Adrian gave him a little smile. "Don't worry, Baizen. I'm leaving." He gazed at Blair a final time. "I meant what I said, Blair. And I really am sorry."

Carter was more than ready to shut the door in his face for the second time, but he went on his way. Thank God. Carter's mouth twisted in distaste, before he glanced over at Blair. She was still pale.

"What was that all about?"

She gave herself a little shake. "Nothing," she snapped. Carter looked like he didn't entirely believe her, but she had far more pressing concerns. "Is it true? He's found proof of fraud?" Then, more importantly, as her heart clenched and her eyes darkened with worry - "Where's Chuck?"

Chuck paced yet another infirmary corridor, hair and suit ravaged. He'd got next to no sleep last night - either on the train on the way up, or in the guest room they'd provided for him.

Bart was still in the medical wing - still under sedation.

Chuck had tried demanding to know why he'd had another fit - wasn't that the point of him being in the sanitorium in the first place? - but the answer had scared him far more. They didn't know.

Lily had gone to find a maid to get them both some breakfast. Her presence had been reassuring, but far from what he actually needed.

And at the back of his mind, underlying all his fear about Bart, was the fear that Carter hadn't been able to find Blair. Had she not come home? He couldn't shake the sense of paralysing dread (she'd been mugged, kidnapped, there'd been an accident, she'd collapsed too - the list of possibilities wouldn't leave him alone) and his lack of sleep wasn't doing anything to help his rationality.

It had all been ripped away in a matter of hours. He'd lost control of everything (BartBlairBassIndustriesBlair), and he could feel panic rising as he grasped around for nothing.

The last thing he'd said to Bart was a rough, short goodbye. He'd practically run out of his father's room. And the last thing he'd said to her -

"Charles."

He turned. Lily was behind him, and instead of breakfast she'd brought an orderly.

"Your father's awake."

Chuck managed a nod, trying to keep his face blank. The last thing he wanted was for Lily to see how scared he was. Again. Her own expression softened as her hand slipped to his arm; gentle - an mother's touch so alien he almost flinched. But he concentrated enough to let it be comforting, if not the fierce grip he craved. He looked down the empty corridor one last time and his heart thumped.

Then he had no choice but to follow his stepmother.

Serena watched as Dan read to Faith, trying in vain to engross her in the story. She was waiting for news on what was happening with Bart - but for now, they were keeping Faith occupied. The little girl kept squirming in her seat, desperate to get down from the table and play.

"Look!" she called brightly, "A bird!"

Dan frowned, now squinting at the book to try and work out what she was talking about. "No, Faith. No bird. It's a tortoise." He hadn't noticed, like Serena had, that the girl was actually clapping her hands in delight over the pigeon in the window. "You see, it's a fable. It's a story with a moral. What do you think the moral might be?"

Faith vaguely registered a word she didn't know - moral? But she was too busy watching the pigeon fly away. "Can I find Mr. Barnaby now?" Barnaby was the latest teddy of the week.

Serena bit back a laugh as her husband looked increasingly perplexed.

She decided this would be a good point to rescue both of them. She approached the table and bent to ruffle Faith's hair, smiling at Dan.

"You can play once you've said thank you for the story," she whispered in her ear.

"Thank you for the story," Faith recited obediently, jumping down from her chair. "The rabbit was really pretty!" She scampered off, blonde curls flying.

Dan watched her go with a look of helplessness. He sighed. "Well, I tried."

Serena just laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You got her to sit still for five minutes. I'd say that was an achievement." Faith had inherited both her parents' easy distraction - but none of Nate's patience. That was all Serena. She remembered all too well what she'd been like at that age. She'd always been amazed at Blair's ability to stay exactly where she was told, hands on her lap without so much as a fidget. (It wasn't exactly a mystery as to how Blair had been their schoolmistress' favourite.)

Dan still seemed a little sad that Faith didn't share his love of books, though, so Serena planted a kiss on his lips.

"What was that for?" he asked in surprise.

She just smiled down at him. "I love you."

He blinked - but, after a moment, smiled back. "You know, I never thought I'd say this - but apparently I need to thank Blair."

"Why?" Serena laughed.

"I don't know." He studied her. "Just, whatever the two of you talked about last night - it seems to have made you happy."

Serena bit her lip. "I did need to talk to her," she admitted. She gave him another kiss, her nose rubbing against his. "But you...make me happy."

Bart was on the other side of the door. He'd woken up all right, but he was refusing visitors. Lily alone had convinced the orderly to let her in - Chuck's voice had stuck in his throat, for some reason - and she'd promised him she'd talk some sense into the man.

Part of him stung that his father didn't want to see him, but the other part - the bigger part - didn't want to go in there. Really didn't want to go in there. He'd thought he'd be prepared, after last time - and he wasn't at all. He couldn't help it; seeing Bart like that terrified him. He just wanted to know his father was all right. He didn't want to have to go in there and face...Face Bart knowing how scared he was, for one thing. He was a coward through and through - experiencing it once hadn't made him any braver.

The doorknob turned and his breathing hitched. He realised with frightening clarity that he couldn't do this. He couldn't do it. He was on the verge of turning and running there and then because he didn't want, didn't want to see -

And then a hand suddenly gripped his, small fingers enwtining themselves and squeezing - and she was suddenly there. She was there, holding his hand, very much safe and real as she pressed into his side. He turned into her, shoulders unclenching as he realised he could breathe again. For a moment.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes were wild, face pale. "I'm so sorry." She squeezed his arm, tight.

And he was too relieved to even ask where she'd been - his voice was sticking again and all he could do was grip her hand back pathetically, shame and terror and relief threatening to drown him there and then.

"I'm here," she whispered. He held onto her as Lily motioned for him to enter the room. Blair glanced back at him, still holding his hand, and he was fine as long as he looked into those brown eyes. "I'm here," she promised again.

"I told you I didn't want to see you."

Bart's tone was cold. He barely looked at his son, and Chuck's own jaw was just as rigid. He was having difficulty forcing himself to look at Bart's sallow skin, the stink that he'd come to assoicate with sickness - medicine, cleaning soaps - suffocating him. He could see a dark wound above Bart's eye, a bandaged gash to a once hard and imobile face. He must have knocked himself during the fit, but the idea of him even shedding blood was horrifying. The only thing stopping Chuck from bolting was the presence at his side.

"Bart," Lily sighed. "You don't mean-"

"Don't presume to tell me," he snapped, "What I do and don't mean." His voice was hoarse from the sedation, but he loaded as much authority into it as he could. "I made it perfectly clear that I didn't want visitors. Now get out."

His clothes had been changed. While he was unconscious. He'd probably soiled them during his fit. He wasn't even capable of dressing himself.

"I said leave."

Chuck turned, abruptly, and walked out - dragging Blair with him. Lily gazed at Bart for a moment, and then sighed again. "Fine. We'll give you some time alone."

It took all of Bart's willpower not to collapse back on the pillows once they'd left; but he stayed, upright and rigid, as though ready for anyone to walk back in. It was only once he was completely sure that they were gone that he allowed his eyes to close.

They'd been shown into one of the siderooms for tea; Chuck sat, back upright against the chair and his hand still in Blair's while Lily spoke with one of the orderlies again. Blair released him only to pour the tea and butter some bread, pushing both in front of him. The message was clear. Eat. He watched her prepare her own food before he forced himself to comply.

Watching her stopped him from noticing that the food tasted like ash in his mouth. She looked as if she'd got about as much sleep as he had, and the thought made him flinch again.

"Blair." His hand sought the warmth of her knee under the table (hidden), and he covered it, tight. "I didn't mean it." It was low and raw in his throat as he held her in place.

"I know." Their argument felt like so long ago now. "It's not important."

His girp tightened on her lap. "It is." He didn't want there to be any question of doubt. Ever. His voice still wasn't quite working properly - but this, he needed her to know. "I care."

Her fingers crept under the table to brush his hand, tracing his knuckles.

He exhaled. "And Jenny Dalgaard is a social-climbing whore. I pity any child of hers that inherits Damien's nose. Or her forehead." [1]

Blair couldn't help the faintest of real smiles; and he felt his chest loosen that bit more, gazing at her. They finished the rest of their food in silence, though his hand stayed on her knee.

"Chuck," she murmured at last. "I know you're scared." She looked up at him, and her hand didn't move from his. "But you can do this. I know you can."

Chuck's insides clenched with fear again, just at her words, and he'd already started to shake his head. "He doesn't want to see-"

"That's irrelevant, and you know it." Blair's voice was still quiet but it held no compromise. "You're going to go in there, and you're going to sit with him."

Chuck's fingers tightened round his cup. He wrestled with the temptation to snap that he was not. Blair, however, was not about to back down. Or let him run away. She was no doubt more than ready to try dragging him there.

And he didn't think her tiny frame could carry any more of the weight. (He didn't want it to). So he pulled his eyes away from her and gave a curt nod. "Fine."

Adrian leaned back in his study chair as he skimmed, birefly, once more through the Bass Industries documents. They were all in place. Everything was going according to plan. He'd found out from one of the employees that Chuck was in Westchester with his father - which meant Blair would be too. And it meant Bart was in a bad way - which meant Chuck would be distracted. Desperate. He couldn't have asked for better circumstances.

He took a deep breath from his cigarette as his eyes closed. He'd had a dream about Bree last night. Similar to the first day he'd met her (or re-met her, perhaps) - a distant cousin on his mother's side, part of his rebellion against his father in the deep South. He'd remembered her vaguely as the red-haired brat that had tried to force him to play tea parties - and the transformation that day had been startling.

The white dress, the face hidden behind the parasol, a flash of pale skin and a sweet voice - he remembered his awe all too well. In the dream she'd been hidden by a parasol too. And he'd chased her, trying to catch her face, trying to catch anything. She kept slipping out of his grasp. The dream had got confused, too; she'd been with Harry suddenly, even though that wasn't possible for the first day he'd met her. She'd turned into his mother, sliding away from him too. There had been a flash of brown eyes - wrong, because his mother's eyes were green like his, and Bree had passed her soft grey onto Harry. He'd woken up with the child's laugh ringing in his ears and a churning stomach.

He exhaled now.

It had been a long time since he'd dreamt at all; the last he could remember was a nightmare, hounded by one of his father's snarling mastiffs as the man laughed. Yet another 'joke'. He'd woken Bree, then, lying next to him, and she'd stayed up all night, rubbing his back and murmuring soft comfort. Just like his mother had used to do, before his father forbade him from entering her room. Don't be a sissy.

He extinguished his cigarette, a violent jerk, into the marble ashtray.

He would destroy all of it.

Destroy her.

Chuck was caught, once again, outside of his father's door. This time Blair was waiting for him in the tearoom - and knowing she was only a few yards away eased his breathing a little. Knowing she'd be there when he got out. (If he ever went in). He knew if he wanted to, he could get her - and she'd go in with him. A buffer. And part of him did want to. It was an almost overwhelming urge.

You can do this. I know you can.

He pulled himself up and quietly twisted the door handle. He knew knocking would get him nowhere - Bart would tell him to go away, and he would, all too gladly.

He wasn't prepared for the scene that met him. Bart was being seen by one of the nurses, who was in the process of peeling back his dressing and cleaning the wound beneath. The dried blood on his father's skin made Chuck want to hurl. (And the last thing he'd ever been was squeamish).

Bart looked up at the interuption - and, as he recognised his son, his eyes blazed. "What are you doing?" His voice whipped with sheer fury. "Out. Get out!"

Chuck was still feeling nauseated and had been on the verge of turning his back anyway - but something on his father's face stopped him. The flicker of an emotion that he recognised. Except he'd never seen it from Bart before.

Shame.

Bass men weren't supposed to feel shame. Bart never did. The only time Chuck felt it was when he was afraid - but Bart Bass was never afraid. Was he?

And for some reason Chuck found himself rooted to the spot.

"I told you to leave," Bart hissed.

The nurse looked a little flustered. "I'm nearly finished, Mr. Bass..." Her eyes flickered to Chuck. "Maybe you should wait outside, dear. I'll be done in a moment."

So Chuck waited outside - but once the woman had gone, he re-entered.

Bart was propped up on the pillows, mouth a hard line. He looked like he couldn't quite believe Chuck had come back in. "What do you want, Charles?"

Chuck paused. But he moved forwards anyway, grip tight around a newspaper. "I thought you might want to hear the headlines."

For a moment Bart just stared at him. Chuck couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that he might have just thrown the man.

But his face soon settled into an expression of dislike. "Well, I don't." And, when Chuck hesitated still - "I'm tired. Just go away."

Chuck bit his tongue. He clearly wasn't going to get anywhere. So he set the newspaper down and headed for the door; he was on the verge of turning the handle when Bart suddenly called after him.

His voice was stiff. "How's the company?"

Chuck might otherwise have snapped that he didn't want to be interrogated about work (and dread prickled, somewhere, at the back of his mind) - but something about his father's rigidity made him pause. He caught himelf wondering if the man was attempting some sort of conversation after all.

He turned back, and was thrown off balance by the look of discomfort on Bart's face.

But he moved, hesitantly (since when was Chuck Bass hesitant?) a little closer to his father's side. It wasn't quite the sitting with him that Blair had demanded, but it wasn't at the other end of the room either.

"Fine," he swallowed. His voice was equally stiff. "It's under control." He'd rehearsed the answer on the train, but it didn't sound any more convincing now. He paused again. "Carter's...actually been helpful."

Bart almost looked surprised. "You've been working together?"

"Yes." It perturbed Chuck a little that this time he wasn't lying. Proof that his world really had been knocked off its axis.

His father glanced at him, and nodded. "I'm glad. I know you don't believe me, but he's a good worker." There was a pause. "I wanted you to see that."

"I suppose I do," Chuck admitted grudgingly. That didn't mean he had to like the man.

Bart nodded again. He seemed pleased, and Chuck felt a jolt as he realised that, for the first time in a while, he'd been the one to cause that.

If Bart only knew the truth.

He remembered something, then. "Father." He glanced at the man carefully. "Have you ever dealt with the Montgommerys?" (And is it possible that you did something to one of them at any point?)

But Bart just frowned. "The accountants? No. I think they started off in the south - never came under my radar."

Chuck was sure Carter had said the Montgommerys were born and bred in Los Angeles. Was it possible his father was lying?

Bart raised an eyebrow. "How are they working out?"

Chuck felt a little sick again, but this was a lie he'd practiced too. "They're fine. Everything...seems to be in order."

Bart sighed. "Vincent Luccio was a good accountant." Chuck felt even sicker. His father looked at him slowly. "But...perhaps this change was for the best after all." He gave another nod. "I think you made the right decision."

How long had Chuck waited to hear those words?

He looked at his father, and it was almost all too much. He was suddenly seized with the burning, insane urge to tell him. To tell him he'd screwed up, so that Bart could fix it like he'd done so many times. Throw money at the problem and make it disappear.

Bart frowned again. "Charles? What?"

Chuck's voice was trapped in his throat. So he smiled instead, more of a grimace. "Nothing. I'm just...really glad you're pleased."

Bart was silent.

Chuck took the opportunity to move to the door again, ready to get out. He had to return to Manhattan and fix this. He had to do something. Anything. "I really should get Blair," he excused himself. "We need to get back. Like you said, I can't afford to leave the company for this long."

He was just about to escape when Bart cleared his throat.

"Charles."

Chuck paused. Had his father heard something? Impossible. Then again, he was sure his lies hadn't exactly been convincing. He knew. He'd worked it out. There was something odd in the man's voice - Chuck was sure of it.

Another silence stretched out, and Chuck could feel his nerves prickling with foreboding. He'd fix it; he was going to fix it -

"I love you." Bart practically sounded like he was grinding the words out.

Chuck froze.

[1] I don't actually think that there's anything wrong with Jenny's forehead. But I had great difficulty coming up with any flaws in Taylor Momsen's appearance. (Unless you count the raccoon makeup, but that can't be inherited).

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