"But...Brooklyn?" Chuck's nose wrinkled just at the thought of it. "And that gallery?"

Blair rolled her eyes. "It was Serena's idea. And the second we get home, this dress is going to be scrubbed down to its last thread." (Not by her, of course). She pulled a face as she remembered that she hadn't even changed since yesterday. "Or maybe burned."

Chuck smirked.

He leaned back against the leather seats of their car, Blair's hand in between his legs. He'd managed to push what Bart had said firmly to the back of his mind (he couldn't) - and now he needed to fight his exhaustion and keep a clear head. He needed to plan. Destroy Montgommery, save the company.

The car finally pulled up in front of the familiar brownstone of their building; the valet opened the door and Chuck turned to pull Blair out. She could see his brow already heavy with the weight of plotting - she'd thought facing his fear about Bart would help. At the very least, that it would make him realise he wasn't a coward. But he'd come out looking as though he'd seen a ghost. She'd been worried, for a moment, that he was actually going to throw up.

She'd ended up chasing him round the corridor and pushing him against the wall just to get him to tell her what the hell had happened. Her immediate thought had been that Bart's condition had somehow worsened - followed by the fear that he'd found out about Bass Industries.

But Chuck had told her it was neither; and he was barely coherent. Possibly his lack of sleep hadn't been helping matters. But he'd just kept shaking his head, eyes burning. "He was right aboout me. All this time. I've ruined all of it, and I need to fix it."

She'd grabbed his chin to force him to look at her. (What the hell had Bart said to him? She could think of only one thing that would make Chuck lose it this badly - make him this afraid - but she'd thought Bart Bass was the last person capable of feelings.)

"Chuck," she'd said firmly. "The Luccios were his accountants. Not yours."

"And if I hadn't hired Montgommery, none of this would even be happening."

"No," she'd snapped. "If the Luccios hadn't done what they did, there would have been nothing to find." Her jaw had tightened. "If your father knew about this, then he has only himself to blame."

But Chuck had just shaken his head again. Rigid. "It's my fault. Bart should never have left me in charge, and he knew it. Because he knows me." His voice had been little more than a growl. "I need to fix it."

It was spelled out in the feverish light of his eyes.

Lose the company, lose Bart.

His fingers stayed on the small of her back, now, as he guided her in. All she wanted to do was push him down on their mattress and curl up on his chest - because she was already dreading tomorrow.

Eric was heading out of his final lecture of the morning when he spotted a familiar figure. He was on his way to meet with Chuck - but he stopped now, frowning a little. Damien Dalgaard was ensconsed in the courtyard corner with two young men that Eric vaguely recognised from his classes.

They were being subtle, but Eric was no fool.

He could just about catch their voices over the light breeze.

"...That's twenty, all counted out..."

"Bet you're gonna put this to good use, huh Dalgaard?"

"You should try Cheng's - the girls there are something else."

Eric saw Damien laugh as he pocketed their money - "...Tried already, trust me - they don't live up to their reputations."

The man disappeared with a tip of his hat. The two guys idled a little longer, hands in their pockets as they checked their packages were safely stowed.

"Be nice if I could have a wife like that, didn't notice me screwing around. Dalgaard must be getting it all the time."

"Please," the other one laughed. "There a reason he's out every night. I doubt his wife even lets him near her." Another laugh - "I wouldn't, if I had any sense!"

"Aren't they expecting?"

He snorted. "Highly convenient, if you ask me. I bet she's got a line of lovers too." They both cracked up at the idea - and then the first one glanced up and noticed Eric.

He nodded. "All right, van der Woodsen?"

Eric smiled back and went on his way before they could engage him in conversation properly. He needed to get to his brother.

"So you're saying there's nothing?"

Eric glanced over at Chuck. It was quite obvious he hadn't been sleeping all week - there was an almost manical gleam in his eye, usually sleek hair dishevelled and hollow rings on his pale face. He was still pacing the office, once immaculate desk covered in papers. Figures.

"I can't make much more of their accounting system than you can," Eric admitted. "The ones from Giovanni are a complete mess, obviously, but at least they don't go back too far. There's numbers missing, a few made up figures..."

Chuck nodded along impatiently - he'd got the same.

"There seems to have been some kind of structure to the other brother's - Vincent - but I can't make sense of it." And the dossiers were far larger from the other accountant, dating back far further. "He doesn't use any of the conventional markings," Eric admitted. "He seems to have had his own system." It didn't help that a lot of it was in Italian, either.

"I don't understand how Bart didn't know about this," Chuck muttered through ground teeth. "Why didn't he insist Vincent keep records he could understand?"

Eric shrugged. "Maybe he just trusted him."

"Yes," Chuck spat. "Well, look where trust gets you." His father's principle had always been trust no one. "Maybe he and Vincent worked out the system between themselves."

Eric hesitated. "Can't you ask him?"

Chuck nearly lost it. "No." He realised too late that he'd snapped - overreacted - when Eric looked at him in quiet concern. But Chuck was beyond that by now. "I can't tell him. I created this mess, I need to fix it myself." He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. "Knowing about this would probably send him into another fit."

Eric raised his hands gently. "All right. No telling him."

He was, however, a little more worried about how close his brother was to the brink than the fate of the company.

Blair had brought Chuck his favourite foods for lunch, trying to alleviate some of it in any way that she could - and the sight of him trapped in those four walls, practically rending his hair in desperation, had split her heart. The worst part of it all was knowing that for all the meals she arranged for him, all the massages and kisses and forcing him to sleep - she couldn't do anything to actually, tangibly help. She couldn't make it go away.

She'd picked up some of Chuck's basic training in numbers just through being at his side while he worked - but not enough. She couldn't help him with any of that.

She may have been smart enough to run her own business, but she didn't have any more experience than he did. She'd never felt so powerless to save him. She could hold his hand and smooth down his lapels and convince him to believe in himself all she liked - it wouldn't stop him losing all of it.

It didn't change the fact that it would destroy him. Everything he'd built. Everything he'd worked for.

She was just exiting the heavy swing doors of Bass Industries when a voice stopped her.

A voice that made her skin crawl instantly.

"Blair."

Montgommery was coming up to the entrance, blocking her way around him.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped. "Haven't you done enough?" She had half a mind to tell the doormen not to let him in. Not to let him anywhere near her husband.

He just moved closer. "You don't look well," he murmured.

Her eyes narrowed. "Funny, that." She hated his proximity, but she wasn't about to back down. "I suggest you leave."

"Blair," he sighed. "I told you I was sorry." He reached out for her, and she jerked her arm away. Appalled. They were on the street, for God's sake. Let alone the fact that she didn't want him touching her.

He dropped his hand, reisgned. "Look," he said softly. "I hate seeing you like this. Please. Come and see me tonight."

She flinched and was already withdrawing. "When are you going to get the message through your head? I'm not going anywhere near you."

"I know you want to help you husband," he insisted. And she felt a chill pass through her - because she knew what he was saying. "Please, Blair. I want to help you. Just meet me tonight." He was pulling out a piece of paper, pushing it into her hand - "My address."

She backed away from his touch, but the paper was already in her grip. (He saw it with satisfaction. She was still disgusted, but depseration was winning).

"What's going on?"

He was stopped by the icy voice of Carter Baizen; he sighed.

"Nothing, Baizen. Mrs. Bass was just going on her way."

Carter's gaze narrowed on Blair - he hadn't heard what they were talking about, but he'd seen Montgommery push the paper into her hands.

"I'm just leaving," Blair said tightly. "Good day, gentlemen."

Carter turned on Adrian once she'd gone. He already knew it was pointless to ask the man what he was up to. Stopping him from entering the building, however - that, he could do.

He tipped a nod at one of the doorman. "Sorry, Montgommery. No vermin allowed." His eyes were hard. "I'm sure you understand."

Adrian rolled his eyes. "Calm down. I'm only coming to tell you that I've registered my report. You should expect a court summons within the week." His mouth was a grim line of satisfaction. "I'm sure you'll pass the message on to Mr. Bass."

Chuck felt like the ceiling was pressing down on him. The papers were blurring in front of his eyes and they didn't even mean anything any more. The sun was already sinking lower and lower in the sky - taking with it any chance of getting any closer to a solution.

Because there was none.

Another wasted day, going over the accounts - and nothing.

He could feel panic rising in his throat, inevitable and all-consuming. There was no way out. He was going to let them all down. Fail them all.

He needed to get out.

He knew Blair would be at Serena's - they were meeting that evening to discuss plans for Faith's birthday party. And much as he wanted to sink into her arms - he didn't think he could handle the failure. Because he was failing her, too. And he'd put enough on her this week anyway. She should at least be able to enjoy one evening with her best friend.

But he couldn't sit here any longer.

Blair sat on the chaise lounge, twisting the paper between her hands. Over and over again. She'd sent Dorota home for the day - for once, the maid had just been getting in her way. She was alone in the penthouse.

Chuck needed her. She needed to save Chuck. When she looked at it like that - what choice did she have?

How could she ever live with herself, knowing she'd had the choice to save him and hadn't?

She rose to her feet, ignoring the tremor that passed though her. She'd made up her mind. She picked up the telephone, fingers sliding the dial with determination. Each slide bringing her closer and closer.

"Humphrey residence?"

"Yes. Fetch me Mrs. Humphrey, please."

Serena would be disappointed - Blair was already working out how early the next morning she could get there instead. She'd make it up to her and Faith. But she didn't have a choice. Save Chuck. That was all that mattered.

"Carter?"

He glanced up from his own copy of the accounts as Eric entered his office.

"Have you seen Chuck?"

Carter arched an eyebrow. "Do I look like his keeper?"

But Eric wasn't joking. "His room's empty. We were supposed to be meeting after my afternoon classes." His brow was creased in worry. "There's no sign of him."

Carter bit back a sigh. "Great. I knew it was just a matter of time before he lost it." He'd seen that state the man had been in for the past week. "That's all we need," he muttered irritably. "Wasting time trying to talk him down from a rooftop - or pulling him out of the gutter."

Eric was too concerned to laugh, though.

Carter rolled his eyes and got to his feet with great reluctance. How had he ended up as Chuck Bass' minder? "I'll go to his penthouse and see if he's started on the scotch yet. You find his wife." He pulled his coat on, scowling. "God knows she's the only one who can talk any sense into him."

The younger man tried not to show just how relieved he was. "I think Blair's at Serena's. I'll go there." He glanced at Carter. "Thank you."

Carter looked a little annoyed. "Look, I just don't want to have to tell the judge that my so-called partner is mentally unstable. Or bedridden with alcohol poisoning. Because I don't think that will help our case much." He stalked out.

When he got to the penthouse, though, and persuaded the doorman to let him in, he found it empty.

Just brilliant.

Muttering under his breath about the incompetence of certain Basses, Carter strode over to the telephone. He'd call the Humphreys and tell Blair to start hitting the bars. What a lovely situation Bass had left his wife in. Knowing his luck, he'd end up having to accompany her too - Humphrey was far too much of a pansy, and even the younger van der Woodsen probably wouldn't know where to start. Because, obviously, this was just what Carter wanted to do with his evening. When he had a million dollar company to save.

He was on the verge of picking up the receiver, when a scrap of paper caught his eye. It had been wedged down the side of the table - and if it hadn't been for what he'd seen earlier, he probably wouldn't even have noticed it.

He picked it up, scanning the address. He knew the address. Knew it because he'd had his PI tail the man.

The phone rang at that moment.

"Carter?" Eric's voice, anxious on the other end. "Serena said Blair cancelled. Is she at the penthouse?"

Carter closed his eyes.

"No." His hand tightened over the piece of paper. "Bass isn't either. You need to find him, and tell him to snap out of it and get to 23 on Fifth. Immediately."

He hung up and turned on his heel.

Montgommery was good, he'd give him that.

Eric glanced at his sister once he'd replaced the receiver.

"Chuck's not there." He shook his head. "I don't...I mean, I don't even know where to start. If he's not at the office, and he's not at home-"

Serena paused a moment.

"I think I have an idea of where he might be," she said slowly. She worried on her lip. "But we have to hurry."

"Blair."

His green eyes glowed at her in the dim light of his room. He advanced, and before she could stop him, was helping her out her coat. She caught herself flinching even at that contact - he noticed, and sighed.

"I'm glad you came," he murmured.

He reached for her waist to guide her to into the parlour; she pulled away, moving of her own accord.

"I'm here for Chuck."

He ignored that, offering her the loveseat. Room for two.

She went straight to the armchair instead.

His mouth did twitch, at that. "You're not going to make this even a little easy?" His eyes were mocking her. When she didn't answer, he shook his head. "Let me get you a drink."

She opened her mouth to refuse, but he was already pouring the wine. He handed it over as he gazed at her. He made no attempt to disguise it, and she felt ill.

"So." Her voice was stiff. "Are you going to drop the charges or not?"

He chuckled. "Straight to business, I see." He shook his head. "You're something, Blair. Do you know that?"

She just pressed her lips together. She didn't want his little jokes, like he knew her - she just wanted to find out what he wanted and get this over with.

He watched her, the slender fingers gripping her wine glass and pale throat, lithe form still so errect. He might have almost felt a flash of - something, seeing her so uneasy and still so determined. As it was, though, was enjoying this too much. Having her so completely at his mercy.

He stretched out languidly on his own chair. Yes, he was going to enjoy every last second of this.

The sky was darkening as they hurried through the graveyard; and they found him, their brother, collapsed against an all too familiar headstone. (Serena had been there enough times.)

"Chuck."

Eric spoke softly into the hushed night.

Chuck's eyes were dark, darker than the air around him. "What?" His voice was coarse.

"You need to come with us," Serena pled.

"I can't do it." He shook his head, barely able to get the words out. "There's nothing I can do."

Eric knelt at his side; Serena gripped his other shoulder.

"You can," she promised. "You'll find a way." It wasn't her script - it was her best friend's. But right now she didn't know what else to say. The words always seemed to work for Blair.

"We're going to fight this," Eric added. "Chuck, you're not doing this alone. We're all here."

Chuck was silent. Serena squeezed his shoulder, and Eric gave him a little nudge. And Chuck nodded, faintly, eventually. He breathed out.

He seemed to realise something as he glanced up at his sister. Frowned.

"Where's Blair?"

She'd had enough. She couldn't take it any more; she set the wine glass down, untouched, and gripped her hands in her lap instead.

"What do you want?" she demanded rigidly.

Those green eyes regarded her as his finger traced an idle circle of his own wine glass. He tilted his head. "I suppose the real question is...what do you want?" A faint smile curved at his mouth and he leaned in, still studying her. "What are you willing to give me, Blair? How far are you willing to go?"

Blair voice froze in her throat (to save Chuck, anything) - but at that moment, there was a faint commotion from the hall. Adrian's smile disappeared as he glanced round.

Carter Baizen strode in, followed by an irritated maid. "I told you, sir, Mr. Montgommery said no visitors-"

Carter ignored the woman. "Get up," he instructed Blair, easily. "We're leaving."

Adrian rose to his feet. His eyes were narrowed and dangerous. "The only person leaving," he replied, "Is you. I don't believe I invited you into my home, Baizen. Kindly get out."

He was so slick that Carter actually debated punching him. He might even have done it - but he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Better to stick to his policy of letting others throw punches for him. His lip curled into a hard smirk instead. "Don't worry, I'm going." He nodded at Blair. "Mrs. Bass. Move."

"Why don't you let the lady alone?" Adrian interposed silkily. "She came up here of her own accord. And we have business to attend to."

"You don't," Carter asssured him. "She's leaving. Now."

"She's not going anywhere." Adrian's voice was a little more menacing.

Carter acted as though he hadn't heard him. "Get up." He addressed Blair. "There's a car waiting downstairs, and I'd rather not waste any more of my night. So get your coat, and let's go."

"Baizen-" Blair started, tight.

"She's here," Adrian snarled, "Because she wants to be here. No one's forcing her to do anything. Now get out." His smile slid back, cold and unforgiving. "We were just about to come to an arrangement." He glanced at Blair. "Weren't we?"

Blair felt her stomach turn.

But she realised Carter wasn't going anywhere (and she didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed) - so she got to her feet, shoulders still tense.

Adrian reached for her, but Carter was already motioning her away with a mutter of, "Finally."

She saw Adrian's fists clench - and for a moment, she was afraid he was going to try and stop both of them. But then he just shrugged.

"Fine. That's your chance gone, Blair. You can forget saving him now."

It took all her effort not to shake as she pulled on her coat, tears of shame that she refused to let escape. Shame that she'd come here, or shame that she'd failed - she wasn't sure which.

Carter was quite impassive as he led her to the door, slamming it in Adrian's face. (It really was surpsrising, how much satisfaction that gave him).

"What are you doing?" she snapped at last, once they were in the elevator on the way down. "I was just about to-"

"Give him exactly he wanted," Carter snapped back. "I thought you were supposed to be intelligent? What exactly were you thinking?"

"I was thinking," Blair seethed (she wouldn't cry. She would not cry), "That I had the chance to save Chuck. And you just ruined it."

"And it didn't occur to you," Carter sneered, "That getting you to betray him was just another of Montgommery's ploys? I realise you and Bass share your own brand of bizarre, but surely even you didn't think sleeping with someone else is something you could get past?"

Blair flinched. "I wasn't going to sleep with him." But her voice nearly caught - because had that really been what she was prepared to do?

Carter just scoffed. "No, I'm sure the thought didn't even cross your mind when you went to his penthouse alone. Why would anyone possibly think that?"

Blair ignored him. "I could have saved the company. I could have stopped all of this-"

"You can't honestly tell me you think Montgommery would have stopped?" His voice was cold.

"And you don't think it was worth a try?" she hissed. "Now we'll never know."

Carter gave her a look of indcredulity. "You really think that your beloved Bass values a company over you?" He shook his head. "I can't work out if you're stupid or just insane. That, or there's something seriously wrong with your self-esteem. Which," he reflected, "I know is not the case. You're as vain as he is." He snorted as he straightened his jacket. "I'm inclined to go with insane."

"It's not just a company," Blair bit furiously. It was his legacy. It was his father. It was everything he'd spent the past few years trying to make himself worthy of.

The elevator finally reached it's destination, and Carter let out an irritated sigh.

"Please." He made no move to open the doors. "Don't insult my intelligence. Why do you think I agreed to Georgina's little plan on the Olympic?" He shot her a flat look. "I'm not psychotic. Sadism doesn't really do it for me. I knew hurting you was the quickest way for Chuck to give me what I wanted.

"Hell, just kidnapping you would have been enough to make him do anything." He paused a moment. "Admittedly, I didn't factor in that my accomplice was an actual psychopath.

"But what would possess you to think," he sighed, "That, after all that, Bass would merrily sign you over to settle a court case? I mean, do you really think your logic makes any kind of sense? Are you telling me I wasted all that time and planning?" He watched her. "You're telling me him practically crying was all for nothing?"

Blair was silent.

Carter raised his eyes heavenwards. "Fine. I've spent far too much time tonight chasing after Basses. Feel free to carry on in your deluded way. God knows I have better things to do."

He pulled the door open, already heading out.

Blair followed him numbly into the foyer. She realised that she was exhautsed. She half closed her eyes as she waited for Carter to call the car around, drained.

"Blair."

She heard his voice echo round the foyer, her name guttural in his throat as the door was thrown open. He was standing there, pale, eyes blazing; and he moved straight to her.

She vaguely heard Carte grumble a you're welcome, but Chuck had already dragged her out of the building. He spun her round to face him as his gaze burned into her, gripping her forearms. "What were you doing?" he growled.

She wanted to lash out with all the convictions she'd been building all day, all the arguments she'd thrown at Carter - but for some reason she found her voice sticking in her throat.

"I don't know," she whispered. She took a shuddering breath, and realised to her horror that she couldn't control her tears any more. "I wanted to help you."

She sounded about as pathetic as she felt. Was this really Blair Bass, a snivelling wreck in her husband's arms? What the hell had she been thinking?

"I just wanted to save you."

He stared down at her, fingers still curled around her arms - his equal and his other half, shadows in her eyes just like his - two messes standing on a street corner.

He released his hold, and she folded into his chest. And his hands travelled over her back and her hair as his lips lowered onto the top of her head, inhaling her. The heat of his mouth imprinted on her forehead, her scalp, her neck; and he murmured, so low that she only caught it, into her ear - her skin - "You did." (A long time ago). He lifted her chin up fiercely, eyes glittering black in the streetlight. "Together. We work together, always."

And she gazed up at him, still blurred with tears - her broken mess - and she nodded.

A/N Ok, I really hope you don't hate me for using the IP storyline...I still find 3x17 hard to watch. I do want to point out that I didn't want this to just be a retelling with a Chuck who would never do something like that. Because, much as it pains me to say it - I don't think it's completely OOC for him. And, contrary to what I've written in this fic, I don't think it was as simple as him choosing Blair over the hotel - on the show, anyway.

But for the Chuck in my story - 1) It's not a case of Uncle Jack screwing with his head (or the whole weird Jack/Blair thing that I don't think Chuck had ever really forgiven); 2) He doesn't have the same mommy issues/betryal going on; 3) His relationship with Bart is a little more stable - he hasn't lost his all chance at resolution with his father yet; 4) He's been in a stable relationship with Blair a lot longer. My point is, this is Chuck at a different point than 3x17 on the show. I don't think that there are the same circumstances that would make him even consider it at this point in my story.

Sorry for the long A/N - but I hope that makes sense!

Also...it took Chuck long enough to accept Blair's 'I love you' on the show. I don't think for a second that hearing it from Bart would make him do anything other than completely freak out. The resolution may be coming - but it won't be that easy. Thanks so so much for all your reviews :) Get prepared for some group scheming next chapter...