Chapter 2 of In Love & War

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

Author: Isabelle

Summary: Post 1.13. Chuck Bass left New York after he lost Blair and Nate in one day. Years later, a deep economic crisis has left the world broke and the only family in the UES with money left is the Bass family and its sole heir: Chuck Bass. Eleanor convinces Blair to marry Chuck for his money, but all the feelings Blair left buried a long time ago start to surface when she realizes he's not the man she thought he was. CB. NV.

Disclaimer: I won nothing, not Gossip Girl, not any quotes/lyrics used.

Rating: PG-15

A/N – A special thanks to the ever lovely Tatiana for her BETA.

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"There exists, at the bottom of all abasement and misfortune, a last extreme which rebels and joins battle with the forces of law and respectability in a desperate struggle, waged partly by cunning and partly by violence, at once sick and ferocious, in which it attacks the prevailing social order with the pin-pricks of vice and the hammer-blows of crime."
Victor Hugo

"We've landed, Mr. Bass," Jacob informed him. He nodded at the man and brought his window shade up. He stared outside and sighed.

New York, New York. Always haunted him. No matter how far away he went, no matter who he met, how many places he saw… New York was his kryptonite.

"Your usual suite has been arranged, sir – it's been confirmed that we have the entire building," Jacob continued.

"No other tenants?" He asked, knowing the answer.

"None sir… There are very few residents left on 5th Ave, sir," Jacob replied.

Chuck's jaw twitched, almost upset at this. Almost. Because he had known those people, once upon a time.

"Crowd control?" He asked, looking over his business brief.

"The press has been contacted with the usual statement, and we've hired an additional ten men," he nodded.

"Excellent work, Jacob," Chuck murmured. "I expect the usual by my desk."

"The Macallan has been flown in," Jacob nodded, and Chuck controlled his smirk.

"I suppose I'm ready to face New York once more," Chuck added, only more to himself, and Jacob thought it wise not to comment on that particular statement.

Chuck followed Jacob out of the plane and into a waiting limo. He sighed when he saw the limo. Not even he had this luxury in Scotland. Only in New York. He slid into the old limo and let out a contented sound. Leather. Limos.

Leather… Limos…

He closed his eyes and shook himself slightly.

"Something wrong, sir?" Jacob asked quickly, staring at him from the other side of the limo.

"No…" Chuck looked outside as his luggage finished loading. "Just… Had a lot of good times in the back of limos… I've missed them."

"I'll contact the authorities the moment we get back to question the road situation once more, sir." Jacob diligently noted down his instructions.

Chuck dimly nodded as the city began to appear around them. His eyes couldn't leave the streets… The last time he had been in New York, he'd been no more than a child… just turned 18. His father's funeral. That had been six years ago, and there was hardly any trace of his beloved city. The city that had brought him up.

"Population?" Chuck asked, taking in all the desertion.

"Less than 10,000, sir. Most have moved to the mid-west or Canada." Jacob read off his notes, always prepared.

"Ten thousand…" He whispered, shaking his head slightly. "Any of the Upper East Side left?"

"Very few," Jacob said, looking at another page in his notes.

Chuck studied the city flashing before him, the buildings, the downcast people, the lack of life…

"Jacob!" He snapped, and the man nearly jumped out of his skin. "I want to throw a party."

"A p-party, sir?" Jacob blinked at him.

"Yes. Invite the prominent families still left, and spare no expense," Chuck explained, almost smirking.

Jacob nodded, shaking his pen to get the ink out. "Right…"

"I'll leave you to plan the rest." Chuck nodded to the man.

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She stared at herself in the mirror and sighed. She was about to face the one man who could make her lose control completely, and she knew everything needed to be perfect. Just absolutely perfect.

Of course, nothing was perfect. Her dress screamed five years ago; her shoes were scuffed, her hair was not bouncy, and she had clear bags under her eyes. Plus, she had no face powder left. None. She had tried to sleep, really had tried, but her mother's shivering next to her and the impending doom of having to speak once more to that self-righteous, rich Basstard was making her head spin.

She knew him. He would know she needed something. He would be able to tell by the way her nails lacked a proper manicure. But she would have to do it. Fifty dollars. If she could sell a few more pieces of her grandmother's jewelry, she would be able to pay the electric bill. Those were the thoughts that kept her up, tossing and turning late at night.

But she'd need a bit more for food and firewood… God… She sighed. Her neck was tense; her fists were clenched. She couldn't face Chuck Bass like this.

She brushed her hair once more and nodded. This was it. She had to do it.

"Dorota," she called into the kitchen where her mother ate oatmeal silently as she re-read her old fashion magazines.

"Yes, Miss Blair." Dorota came into view. No longer dressed in her stiff starchy apron of old, but a more comfortable pair of old slacks and a sweater. Because the old uniforms were simply covered in holes and stains.

"I'm heading out to do my interview," she said, staring at the way her mother looked down at the oatmeal before her.

"You haven't had anything to eat." Dorota looked displeased. Still fretting over her. She was twenty-four years old, and Dorota still fretted over her, as if she were a little girl. Well… She supposed someone had to care for her.

"I'm not hungry," she lied, because she knew exactly how much oatmeal was left.

Dorota didn't believe her.

"Plus, they'll be food at my interview." That she knew was true. Chuck Bass always loved his breakfast.

This pleased her maid.

Not that Dorota could even be considered a maid. They didn't pay her anymore. But she was family, plus Dorota's family was in the Ukraine, and no one could afford to travel anymore… So she really didn't have anywhere else to go but to the streets, and Blair would never let that happen.

"How do I look?" Blair asked Dorota, and the maid nodded.

"Very beautiful, Miss Blair." Dorota smiled at her.

"Good," Blair said, nodding tersely. "Mom… Mind Dorota, ok?"

Eleanor continued looking at her magazines. They were falling apart. No publishing house had printed a fashion magazine in over five years.

"I'll stop by the old recycling plant building and see if I can find you any new ones you haven't read, ok?" She said to her, touching her hair.

Eleanor seemed to realize Blair was next to her and looked up. "Blair…" She took in her appearance. "… You look lovely."

"Thank you, Mother." Blair kissed the top of her head.

"You have no perfume on," Eleanor noted.

Blair swallowed and looked away. "I know." The last bit of her Chanel no.5 had been used over a year ago. Now she only wore Blair's natural musk.

"And your nails are not done," she commented with a far-away look.

"Mom…" Blair shook her head slowly. "I have my interview. I'm leaving."

She turned to leave.

"Who are you interviewing?" Eleanor inquired, seeming to come out of her haze.

"Oh!" Blair decided to go with nonchalance. "An old family friend. You remember Chuck Bass?"

Dorota stopped her stirring on the stove and stared at her, because Dorota knew well and good the sort of things that had involved Chuck Bass during her junior year in high school.

"Miss Blair." Dorota looked disapproving.

"With my new and important position, I'm interviewing him," Blair continued, unfazed. "I should be back after lunch."

She walked to Dorota while Eleanor looked like she was trying to put a puzzle piece together in her head.

"Make sure she eats all the oatmeal," Blair whispered to Dorota. Dorota nodded, still not happy about her assignment.

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She stared up at the building.

She cursed internally. Leave it to Chuck Bass to rent out an entire New York fifth avenue building all for him and his lonely self… And the three hundred whores that were sure to be currently attached to all parts of his body.

Ugh.

She pushed the door open and almost stopped breathing as she noticed all the upkeeps had been kept in this particular building. Shiny floor, golden light from the stunning chandelier, fresh flowers… She felt herself reminiscing on old times when none of this grandeur would've deterred her. She wouldn't have even noticed it.

The one difference, of course, was that in old times, there wouldn't be four armed men before the elevator. Something like a doorman with a tasteful accent and clean shave would've sufficed.

But these were different times.

The men went into attention when they saw her, taking in her appearance. She held her chin high, mustering up the courage of the lady she still was. She wasn't dressed provocatively… Put women hardly put effort into their attire (mostly because there was no attire left), and much less ever accompanied it with red lipstick.

"Private property, Miss," The one in the front told her, but eyed her appreciatively.

She cleared her throat. "Of course it is, you fool," she snapped. She was most certainly not going to be talked like this by the help. "I'm a personal friend of Mr. Bass."

The man attempted not to smile.

"Personal, are you?" He sneered.

She gulped.

"I insist that you inform him that I am here to see him," she replied, ignoring his insinuation. "At once."

"Mr. Bass is not expecting you," another put in.

"Mr. Bass will see me," she said forcefully.

"No. He will not. Now, be a good girl and go off," he replied. "My shift ends at 5, by the way."

He winked at her, and she gasped.

"How dare you!" She snapped. "Do you have any idea who I am? I will make sure Mr. Bass replaces you immediately."

"Don't care who anyone is except for Mr. Bass," the other countered. "And Mr. Bass did not request a lady friend."

She blushed an angry, crimson red. So… He called in whores like delivery food. Typical.

"I am most certainly not what you're insinuating, and I demand you let Chuck Bass know that Blair Waldorf is here to see him!" She snapped. "And I'm not leaving until you tell him."

The elevator door opened at the moment and Blair's stomach clenched painfully. She would never live if Chuck found her arguing with his help, demanding to see him and making a spectacle of herself.

298…

She held her chin high, fully expecting him to waltz out in a mint-green suit. Instead, out came a short, thin man with thinning hay-colored hair, small glasses, and pursed lips. Dressed in an impeccable but forgettable black suit and holding a planner in his hand that looked like it had seen better days. His eyes traveled glossily over her and her appearance as he spared her a look, then turned to one of the guards and whispered to him.

"She's wanting to see Mr. Bass," the guard murmured, and Blair scoffed, placing her hands on her hips.

"No one sees Mr. Bass," the thin man murmured back, looking at her over his glasses.

"I told her, sir. She says she's a personal friend of Mr. Bass," the guard continued.

Blair's nostrils flared once more.

The thin man stopped, raised a brow, and quickly opened his planner, scanning, scanning and then frowning.

"I don't have any scheduled," he stated. "Get rid of her before he hears this ridiculous commotion."

Blair's mouth fell opened.

"Excuse me!" She snapped at the man. "I will most certainly not be dismissed! I am a personal, childhood friend of Chuck Bass, and if you do not tell him at this instance that Blair Waldorf is here to see him, I will personally make sure he fires you and your incompetent…" She gestured to the guard. "….staff."

The man stared at her for a moment.

"Alex," the man finally said, and the guard nodded. He walked forward and went to grab her. Blair, of course, let out a high pitched scream of indignation as he dragged her outside.

"Let go of me!" She shouted.

"No fussing, Miss." He held her as if she weighed nothing – which she didn't.

"How dare you!" She continued protesting all the way until the fresh cool air from outside hit her face, and she was back on the streets.

"Five o'clock, baby." He winked at her, and she fumed at the grotesque man. She stared up at the building when he went in, and she felt those tears that were now constantly at the tip of her lashes treated to come out… But she was resolved.

He wanted a story about Chuck Bass? She would give him a story about Chuck Bass. A story all the world would want to hear. She glared and turned swiftly.

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As he poured his scotch, he turned to look at Jacob as the man entered his private quarters.

"Alex tells me there was quite a ruckus downstairs," he smirked.

Jacob paused and stared at Chuck. "Alex has an overly active mouth."

Chuck gave the man a full smile.

"I do apologize, Sir. I thought it wise not to bother you about it." Jacob instantly snapped back into perfect assistant mode.

Chuck twirled the scotch in his cup.

"Reporters?" He asked.

"Most likely," Jacob responded.

"You don't know?" He inquired, intrigued. There was hardly anything Jacob didn't know.

Jacob cleared his throat. "No, of course. Yes, Sir."

Chuck raised a brow.

"A young lady," Jacob explained.

Chuck's brow rose even higher.

"Presumably either a reporter or a desperate soul-"

"I don't mind either," he smirked.

"-Claimed that she knew you-"

"Known many a woman in New York." Chuck sat down and kicked off his slippers.

"Exactly – I thought it wise to have her removed from the premises, sir." He pushed his glasses up as Chuck took a sip of his drink.

"Good man." Chuck nodded.

"Elisa, of course, is scheduled to join you at 1pm. And Sir, if I may – isn't it a bit early for your drink? I can have your breakfast-"

"Not interested in breakfast."

"But you always have breakfast."

"Not hungry. Just thirsty." Chuck saluted with his cup.

Jacob studied him. "You don't care for New York, Sir?"

"I don't particularly care for it, no," Chuck assented. "At least not this New York. The New York of my childhood was quite different."

"Of course…" Jacob shifted.

"So… What was her name?" Chuck inquired.

"Whose name?" Jacob blinked.

"The desperate soul." Chuck looked out his window at the decaying New York City.

"Humm… Claire. I believe it was Claire," he replied, searching his memory.

Chuck frowned, trying to remember. "Known many Claires."

"Claire… Oh, yes. Apologies, Sir. Claire Waldorf," Jacob smiled triumphantly.

Chuck froze. His drink held mid-mouth and eyes darkened. He slowly turned to Jacob and pinned him with a dark gaze.

"Claire Waldorf?" He hissed. "Or Blair Waldorf."

Jacob stopped and stared at him. "I…. I…"

Chuck stood and began to pace, his liquor forgotten as his hands played with his pockets and his neck stiffened.

Blair. Blair Waldorf.

Fuck. Shit. Dammit.

Kryptonite.

That's what his old friend Martin had called her. Martin was now dead, and his words still lingered. Lingered, haunted him, teased him.

Blair Waldorf.

Ruby lips, ample hips, small waist, ivory skin… Doe-eyed, small hands… Freckle on the left shoulder, where she smelled like freesias. Back of the limo. Destruction of Nathaniel and him.

Kryptonite.

He let out a breath.

His last words to her had been how much he didn't want her when all he wanted to do was have her, possess her, keep her…

Fuck. Shit. Dammit.

He remembered her as a child, stubborn, proud, and absolutely beautiful. With pink cheeks as she played in the snow, always making sure her fur coat was undamaged and her patent leather black Mary Janes remained un-scuffed.

Always running after Nathaniel… Always…

But she had lost it to him. Him. For moments there, she had been his. All his. The need and desperation to have her had driven him out of New York. The thought of Nathaniel one day forgiving her and seeing her in his arms once more made him want to try out his new .45 on his temple.

But he'd been ridiculously dramatic then.

No need for theatrics now. He was a man now.

"Sir?" Jacob interrupted his thoughts, a worried look in his eyes. He realized he'd not only let a wall down, but the whole house. The whole fucking house.

Quickly the walls were brought back up.

"Should I have not sent her away?" Jacob looked right down scared.

Chuck stared at him. "How did she…"

Jacob shifted and stuttered. "She looked quite the lady, sir."

Chuck smiled. This gave him a warm feeling – which he quickly pushed away. He didn't give a crap what happened to the Waldorfs.

"Did she say what she wanted?" He finished quietly.

"Wanted to see you, Sir. I can go fetch her, if you would like," Jacob suggested, and Chuck turned to study him and the implication of his words.

"Did… Did someone touch her?" He asked, his voice low and hard.

He saw it. There in Jacob's eyes as the man swallowed.

"Who?" Chuck inquired.

"A-Alex…" Jacob stuttered.

And Chuck remembered the gloating look in Alex's eyes as he recounted the girl downstairs with a killer ass. He felt his temper rise and go out his ears until he felt deaf, blind, and mute.

"Fire him," Chuck said simply.

Jacob just nodded, surprised, confused, and concerned at his words.

"And… Find out all you can about her. Everything. Every single detail," he ground out.

Jacob nodded, jotting down all he could as he followed Chuck around.

"Why she was here, where is she living, does she have contact with her friends, her financial situation, EVERYTHING." He stopped in front of his bedroom and turned sharply to Jacob. "And make sure it's detailed, precise, and descriptive. I want it by lunch."

"Sir-"

But the door had slammed on his face. He took a second to stare at it. A hundred and one implications of what exactly this could and would mean.

Chuck Bass… No… He would never. He thought back to the girl as she stared him down. The same determination… The same forcefulness… He shook his head and went to work.

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She stormed into the house, stomping up the stairs and entering her old room. She scanned it, and there she found it. Underneath piles of useless porcelain was her old laptop. She walked to it and picked it up, all the china fumbling down and crashing at her feet.

Computers. The one thing she couldn't get money for. High-tech technology like this was useless because there was no internet.

She took it to the kitchen were Dorota was opening some cans and set it on the kitchen table. The maid paused and stared at her. She grabbed all her mother's old magazines, and nearly threw them on the floor as she huffed about, adding the power cable to the wall.

"Miss Blair…" Dorota blinked at her.

"I'm working, Dorota," She huffed as she turned on her laptop. She nearly squealed when it turned on. It had been years. It was dusty and a bit scuffed, but it worked. That's what mattered.

"Are you alright, Miss Blair? Did you see Mister Chuck?" She inquired.

Blair typed in her old password and smiled as the Windows sound came about. It really had been years.

"Mister Chuck can go screw himself," Blair snapped.

Dorota's brows rose.

"Chuck will do no such thing."

Both Dorota and her paused, as she turned to look at her mother who was looking more put together than she'd seen her in months. Maybe years.

"Mom?" Blair stood and stared at her.

"Dorota, will you give us a moment?" Eleanor stated, using the voice that Blair had grown up knowing as she ordered her staff around.

Blair stared at her mother, unsure if she had finally lost it – or if she had gained it. She didn't know what the hell was happening.

Eleanor waited until the nervous Dorota left and turned to Blair.

"Did you see Chuck?" She asked.

"I… What's going on, mother?" She asked, hands on her hips.

"Did you see him? Did he see you?" She walked around Blair casually.

"Why do you ask?" She inquired.

"You always thought I didn't know, but I knew, Blair. Knew what you did with your life… At first, I saw it as a bad thing. But then Nathaniel was back in your life, and all was well once more."

Blair gulped, her eyes wide.

"But I knew about you and Chuck. Sneaking him in when I was away, pretending it wasn't him you talked to on the phone," Eleanor continued, and the manner she was stating this made Blair's blood freeze.

"I was a child. We were children," Blair countered.

"Yes… You were. You were children on your ninth birthday party when he bought you a perfume which you ignored in favor of Nathaniel's flowers," Eleanor smiled.

Blair's stomach clenched.

"You know what you have to do." Eleanor's voice was low and chilling.

She hadn't heard her mother talk like this… Ever.

"Mother-"

"Always staring at you, always staring…" Eleanor smiled slightly. "Always… He was always quite taken by you."

"He was not," Blair insisted.

"Oh, he was…" Eleanor nodded, still rounding her like a vulture. "A fascination like that… Such unprecedented luck has been shown to us here, Blair."

Blair shook her head. "What are you talking about? I couldn't even get him to see him in order to make fifty lousy dollars!"

"We're not talking fifty dollars, Blair." Eleanor came closer. "Imagine… Just imagine… Our things restored, no more worries about where the money would come from… None."

It felt to Blair like little tiny needles were entering her skin from all directions.

"How exactly?" she snapped, eyes narrowed.

Eleanor stood before her, touching her face, hair, shoulders…

"He cares for you…"

Blair shook her head, unwilling to believe her mother was losing it at such a rapid rate.

She tried to pull herself away from her mother's grasp.

"Blair listen to me! Listen!" Eleanor told her desperately. Blair saw in her mother the fear, a fear so great that it was eating her alive. Desperation. Wild eyes. "After your father died… There's nothing left, Blair, you know this," Eleanor whispered, touching Blair's pearl-face.

Blair's struggles seized as she breathed in. "I wont do it, Mother," she whispered, eyes closed.

Eleanor's breath was at her ear.

"If he cares for you the way I know he does…" Her mother tucked her dry roots behind her ear. "… Then give him what he wants. Give it all…" The whispers were hisses. "Marry Chuck Bass."

Blair's blood was cold and breaking.

"You may even love him one day… He's the only one with any money left. Marry him. Marry him and save us. You can save us all, Blair."

"I can save you, you mean?" She spat.

"Save yourself, Blair!" Eleanor cried.

"Chuck Bass left my life a long time ago… I haven't thought about him since," Blair whispered. "I will not do that to him."

"Oh, you will… You were raised to be a princess… And he's the only prince left. You need no other reason."

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To be continued

A/N – Let me clarify. The Nate/Vanessa storyline is used to bring CB together. It is not prominent and they don't even have a scene together.