A/N: This chapter is solely from Chuck's perspective. It's told in the form of flashbacks and present day. The flashbacks are scenes from the show, and they are in italics. I hope that doesn't make it confusing. I know that this isn't a super eventful chapter, but I thought it was important to give attention to Chuck grappling with the news he received in the last chapter. He internalizes everything, but you know that his mind goes into overdrive when he's in a particularly dark place. With that said, this chapter is quite angsty, but I'm afraid it's only the beginning.

Chapter Two

Chuck wasn't sure how he made it to work because he didn't remember leaving the doctor's office or calling Arthur to pick him up. He couldn't recall pressing the buttons in the elevator to ascend to his top floor office. Margaret, his assistant, must have greeted him and debriefed him on the day's agenda, but he had no recollection of any such interaction. Now sat at his desk, his mind replayed the conversation with the doctor, the blue chart that taunted him with the words that affirmed the paternity of Blair's first child flashing before his eyes.

He didn't know where to go from here. He considered the fact that there was some sort of mistake - a mix up at the lab, one of his many powerful enemies out for revenge, something plausible besides the explanation that the doctor had insisted on: Blair's inexplicable betrayal. He could not bring himself to accept the fact that Blair, the one person in the entire word that he loved and trusted above anyone else, could lie to him about this.

But then he remembered her words the night she told him that she was pregnant: "If I know anything about Chuck Bass, it's that fatherhood isn't part of the lifestyle." She was rarely wrong about him, but in that moment, she missed the subtle flinch in his muscles at her words. If he'd been truthful with her then, he would have reminded her of a time that he had considered what it would mean to father her child. He'd been nothing more than a selfish, entitled teenager who had no business thinking such things, but somewhere inside his dismal, weed-addled brain he allowed himself to feel some level of concern for Blair and the nonexistent unborn baby in her womb. His immaturity would've surely ruined both his relationship with Blair and his first attempt at fatherhood, but even at sixteen, he had been ready to take responsibility, to be there for her through the struggles of teen pregnancy. At the time, he couldn't rationalize his rather bold reaction to the news of Blair's pregnancy scare, but now so many years later, he knew that it was out of his developing love for Blair and the underlying hope of a future with her.

When she had told him that a part of her wished that the baby was his instead of Louis's, he flashed back to that day when he touched her stomach in the courtyard at school, imagining the tiny life forming in her womb. As he'd lain in bed with Monkey's head resting on his chest, he let the tears fall for the first time since he'd let her go at the Constance alumni event. The pain was overwhelming: the tears stung harshly and the air in his lungs burned furiously with each ragged exhalation of his breath. The pounding in his head had echoed the paralyzing truth through a phantom baby and one that belonged to another man: Chuck Bass was unfit and undeserving of fathering children, especially those carried by Blair Waldorf.

"Hello, Blair," he answered tentatively, looking aimlessly out the window as a means of maintaining control over his emotions that may surface from the simple act of speaking to her on the phone.

"I need your advice," came the delicate tone from the other end of the receiver. "It seems as you've found your way, I've lost mine."

He smirked in spite of himself, "I didn't think Blair Waldorf could get lost."

"Neither did I but I'm so lost I wound up in Brooklyn."

"Well, there are worse places. This isn't something Humphrey can help you with?"

"No, only you," her quick response caught his attention; the hesitation and desperation in her voice wasn't lost on him. "Do you think you could love another man's child?"

His chest clenched tightly at her words, and his voice wavered slightly as he questioned, "Why are you asking me this?"

"I'm paralyzed. I can't move; I can't breathe. You have to help me." Her words cut him to the bone, and he could feel his heart thudding against his chest. Hearing the uncertainty in her normally confident voice caused his body to tense with anxiety.

"I can't make this decision for you, Blair. You're the one that has to live with it," he closed his eyes to gain control over his racing mind and aching heart.

"But," she paused for a moment too long before asking, "What's the right choice, Chuck?"

He cursed silently to himself at the implications of her question. She seemed to be giving him permission to break up her perfect royal family. He loved her too damn much; that was for certain, but with that love came indescribable pain, usually on her end at his hands. He'd had his chance, and he'd fucked it up repeatedly, time after time, just to leave her in shambles. She'd told him once before that Louis made her happy, and she loved him. Who was he to take all of that away from her? He'd been willing to walk away from her before so that she could experience her fairytale; now more than ever, it was imperative that he not stand in her way in a moment of weakness. With as much courage and finality as he could muster, he responded, "I can't imagine it would be a mistake to marry the father of your child, right?"

He didn't mean to add the unconvinced "right" to the end, but he figured that perhaps it was his way of subconsciously giving Blair another chance to make the choice for herself - the choice that would lead her back into his arms. But when he heard the click followed by haunting silence, he was flooded with the realization that she had taken his words at face value. It was a heartbreaking revelation, but as much as it hurt him, it was the right decision for her - for her future and for her baby. He could deal with the consequences of waiting too long to be selfless; he had plenty of practice living with the pain that his own stubborn stupidity inflicted on him.

Chuck looked out the floor-to-ceiling window to the right of his desk. It was raining, which wasn't necessarily a rare occurrence in New York in August, but something about the blurred lines of the smoky gray clouds and the sharp din of the heavy rain drops against the glass left him with an ominous feeling of dread and fear. He wanted to believe that there was a reasonable explanation for the doctor's unexpected news, but deep inside the dark recesses of his mind, he knew that it wasn't good. No matter what reason Blair gave him, it was inexcusable to keep this secret from him. When she'd lost the baby, he was desperate to be there for her, but she pushed him away. He knew she was hurting and blaming herself unfairly for the tragedy, and more than anything else in his entire life, all he wanted was to comfort her and help her find a way to heal. He'd been fully prepared to love her baby as his own, and after the accident, the pain that he felt from the loss of the baby and Blair's sudden and unexplainable rejection had been enough to nearly send him into a spiral. Knowing that she was experiencing that same pain on a much deeper level tore him to pieces and kept him grounded. He fought with all he had to break through the stone walls that she built around herself, but ultimately he was unsuccessful.

She never wanted to talk about the wreck or the miscarriage, and he respected her request to remain silent on the matter. That didn't stop his mind from drifting into what-if territory every couple of months when he was overworked or overtired. On particularly dark evenings when Blair was away and Henry was asleep, he would remember the accident in vivid detail. He would question each of his decisions that led them to the hospital. It was a special form of torture that he inflicted on himself of which Blair was wholly blissfully unaware. In the way that she blamed herself for the loss of the baby, he held himself accountable for not being able to save them both.

After Blair hung up the phone, he felt sick, literally and figuratively, at the words he'd spoken. He knew her questions had deeper implications than she voiced, but he was desperate to ensure her happiness; it wasn't until some time later that two unexpected saviors appeared to him in the form of Lily and Dan Humphrey and made him realize that his love for Blair could transcend anything, including her carrying another man's offspring.

As he stepped into the dim room, the fire roaring behind her cast an incandescent glow on her already radiant form, and he thought that she looked like home personified. She was warmth and comfort: a familiar and welcoming presence that he knew intimately. Without her, he would never know peace, but with her, he would never again feel the desolate emptiness that, for so long, he thought he deserved. She was his shelter from the storm, the only refuge he'd ever known.

She looked confused after the conclusive nature of their phone conversation, and she asked, "What's going on? Did you have something to do with this?"

He responded quickly, anxious to correct his error, "No, Dan arranged it for us."

"What us?" she asked skeptically.

"The us I should've fought for when you called," he spoke emphatically, stepping toward her slightly and using gestures to strengthen his words, "The us that isn't just you and me, but you, me, and your baby."

"Then," she paused and placed her hand over her stomach in an attempt to grasp the meaning behind his statement, "Why did you tell me to choose Louis?"

"I thought it was selfish if I was the one who told you to break up your family," he confessed honestly.

She stared at him incredulously. With a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice, she motioned toward him, "That was the moment you chose not to be selfish?"

He shook his head with a small smile to acknowledge her dry humor, "Timing has never been our strong suit." Stepping closer, his eyes locked on hers as he carefully emphasized his next words, "I had it all wrong. Just because Louis is the father of your baby doesn't mean you should be with him; you should be with me."

His heart fluttered in his chest as a nearly imperceptible smile pulled at the corners of her lips, and she asked with newfound hope, "Why?"

His raspy voice oozed with sincerity as he responded, "Because I'm going to love your baby as much as I love you."

He felt a lump form in his throat when he remembered how much he had meant it. He didn't get to think of the baby as 'his' for long, but he had known in that moment that it would be impossible not to love Blair's baby because it was a part of her. There was nothing about her that he didn't love or couldn't love. He used to think that love was enough to carry them through their darkest times, but now, with this secret burning a hole through the soul that Blair had mended piece by piece over the years, he wasn't sure if love was really enough.

If the baby was his, it made the fact that she shut him out after her miscarriage cut all that much deeper. He had mourned the loss of the baby after he recovered from the accident, but more than that, he had mourned the loss of his future with Blair. He spent a good portion of that year working on healing, and he felt like part of his recovery had been the result of a lie.

When he arrived at Bass Industries earlier that morning, he had felt hopeless and heartbroken, but the longer he mulled over the information from the doctor, his sadness was slowly replaced with anger and frustration.

A new fear found its way into his already dark thoughts: had she really intended to allow another man to raise his child? Would she have knowingly given birth to his baby and lied to his face about it? He clenched his fists tightly against his thighs, willing his anger to subside to no avail. Squeezing his eyes tightly, he breathed deeply before slamming his fist against his desk. He stood to his feet and made his way to the mini bar and poured a generous serving of scotch into a tumbler. It was only 9:30 in the morning, but alcohol was the only anchor for his sanity. He couldn't risk unleashing on Blair yet. He had to keep his temper under control for Henry's sake, but he felt the threads of his patience unraveling quickly.

As they sat in the back of the limo, one hand ran soothing circles over her thighs and the other gripped her hand tightly as the overwhelming magnitude of their emotions hung heavy in the air. He felt that, for the first time since his horrific mistake after his failed proposal atop the Empire State Building, they were writing a promising new beginning to their story - that the future was theirs and the only thing standing in the way was an awkward confession to the prince.

She breathed heavily and stuttered through her words when she pleaded, "I have to tell Louis face-to-face that the wedding is off. He deserves at least that."

He prepared himself to lose her all over again, despite the hole that it would leave in his heart. Desperate to ensure that she was ready to embark on this simultaneously exciting and scary journey with him, he reminded her of everything that she was giving up for him, imploring her to consider if a life with him was worth such a sacrifice of her lifelong dreams, "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, a prince, a fairytale wedding, this is all you've ever wanted."

"No," she cut in sharply, grasping his arm in emphasis, "You're all I've ever wanted. I love you." As she spoke, the honesty behind her words registered in his mind, and a smile of pure elation spread across his lips. She affirmed his place in her life by acknowledging that she wanted every piece of him, "I love every part of you. I couldn't tell Louis that he would never lose me because it wasn't true. You're the one I never want to leave."

His lips descended on hers, pouring every ounce of love into a desperate kiss as her hand instinctively cupped his cheek in reassurance. When she pulled away, he asked anxiously, "How do you want to do this?"

"First we have to go to the consulate so that I can tell Louis it's off, and then I don't know, we could go anywhere." He laughed as the nerves left his body. He felt relief at her spoken acknowledgement that she, too, felt that as long as they were together, nothing else mattered, "Switzerland has impeccable schools, or maybe Tokyo? They have opening ceremony and great test scores."

"Blair, Blair," he raised his hand to her neck to soothe her and assure her that they didn't need to run away, "We don't need to go anywhere. We can raise this baby right here."

Just as the words left his mouth, there was a bright flicker of a camera's light through the dark window of the limousine, distracting Blair from their conversation, "Look at them."

The blinding flash disoriented Chuck, and he only had seconds before the shrill screeching of tires against the pavement gave way to the chilling crunch of metal closing in on itself. His hands instinctively wrapped around Blair, pressing her into the seat as securely as he could; his mind didn't have time to process the accident, but his body reacted immediately, placing himself in front of her as a human shield. The position caused him to take the brunt of the impact: glass shards pierced his skin as his skull bounced harshly against the tinted window, resulting in blood trickling down his temple in a steady path. The blurry image of Blair's arms holding her abdomen tightly as she buried her head in his chest slowly faded into blackness as he lost consciousness.

He was shaken from his reverie when his cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. With a tremorous hand, he reached into his pocket to pull out his iPhone and checked the message. It was from Blair, as he expected, but this time, unlike his typical affectionate reaction to her daily messages, he felt bile rise in his stomach. His jaw locked and his teeth gritted into his jaw sharply enough to draw blood from the inside of his cheek, and the metallic tang assaulted his taste buds. He read the message with acidic derision: "Good morning, love. Just thinking about how thankful I am that you are the father of my children. Dinner at 7 with Serena and Lily. I love you." A sardonic scowl escaped his throat as he tossed his phone haplessly on his desk - the same desk on which he'd made love to her on a nearly weekly basis for the past seven years when she would sneak in for a mid-day romp around lunchtime. He knew she would expect a response, but his anger was too fierce to attempt a sappy reply at that moment.

His eye caught the numerous pictures of Henry and Blair on the far end of his desk. On any given day, they brought him peace and comfort to know that despite the problems that come with running a multi-billion dollar company, he would always have the two most important people in his life within reach. His favorite picture of Blair was the one that she hated the most. He'd snapped it on a whim while they were frolicking in the surf of Honolua Bay at sunset. Her white sundress was drenched to her thighs, and she bent forward, bubbly laughter emanating from deep in her stomach. Her hair fell over her shoulders in tousled waves courtesy of the sea salt spray splashing around her, and her eyes shined brightly, reflecting the turquoise shimmer of the sparkling waters. Her stomach was just rounding out with the form of their growing son, and Chuck thought that the woman in the picture was Blair at her most beautiful - carefree and happy. She was always gorgeous, but the subtle glow of motherhood painted her as a goddess that he would willingly worship every day of his life.

He still couldn't accept the thought that this woman could sleep beside him every night, knowing that she had lied to him about something so monumental, but the photo served to remind him that, regardless of whatever way she had betrayed him, she was still carrying his child. He couldn't confront her now, not when she was finally pregnant; he needed her to be happy and relaxed like the woman in the picture. She'd kept this secret from him for years, so surely he could suppress his need for answers, at least during the crucial, formative stages of the first trimester.

With a reluctant sigh, he picked up his phone and texted back: Love you, too. I'll be home by 6:30.