Chapter 16 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 own 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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"Dance me into the night
Underneath the moon shining so bright
Let the dark waltz begin
Oh let me wheel - let me spin
Let it take me again
Turning me into the light."
Hayley Westernra, The Dark Waltz

There was little Blair could do at that moment, other than scream and cry, but she held herself back because her husband, the one man she loved, was bleeding to death before her.

"Bring him to his room!" She demanded of the men around her, who seemed to be frozen, staring at the unconscious Chuck. Jonas jumped forward and, with the help of Mr. Grant and Jacob, picked Chuck up and started up the stairs with him. There was blood everywhere as they dragged him into the house. Blair herself was covered in it.

That's when Ruby came running out to check on them, despite Polly crying out behind her, and she gasped, her little eyes wide as she saw Chuck.

"Get her out of here!" Blair screamed at Polly, who seemed frozen herself. "Get her out, don't let her see!"

Polly reacted and shook herself out of her reverie, pulling Ruby, who was now crying, back into the safe room.

"Get Dorota!" Blair shouted at her.

Chuck's blood trailed all through the stairs as they hefted him up and into his room. As soon as they deposited him on the bed, Jonas grabbed a sheet and pressed it into the wounds on his chest. Before Blair could even check on Chuck, she was pushed back by a sobbing Clara, who grabbed at Chuck.

Blair simply saw red, so she grabbed the girl by her hair and yanked her back with all of her strength. She pulled her off her husband and shoved her back. "Get her out!" She demanded of Mr. Grant, who was staring wide-eyed at Blair. "Now!" The man reacted and grabbed the struggling Clara, who was now calling Blair every name she could imagine.

"You don't even love him, you fucking bitch!"

And she was dragged out. Blair ignored her and turned back to Chuck, who was murmuring things as Jonas continued pressing the sheets to his chest.

"Is there even a nurse in this village?" She demanded, her own voice shaky and her hands trembling.

Jonas' face was hard, and Jacob shook his head.

Dorota burst through the door at that moment, and Blair let out a sigh of relief. Everything would be ok, Dorota was here. Dorota was here.

"No Doctor?" She asked, and Blair's eyes filled with tears as Chuck continued bleeding and becoming more and more pale.

"I-I took a bullet out once… In a man's leg," Jonas confessed. "While I was in the Navy – I think I can do it."

Blair's eyes met his, and she nodded. "Lets take off his clothes."

Dorota turned to Jacob. "Bring water, a lot of water, and towels."

Jacob looked pale himself before he threw one worried glance at Chuck and shuffled off. Blair helped Jonas cut Chuck's clothes off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Chuck was shaking now; his body was becoming cold and pale.

"More fire," Blair said to Mr. Grant, and a man stoked the fireplace so that it became warm inside of the room. Blair took off her jacket and pulled up her sleeves. Dorota followed her lead.

Jacob came back with a maid who helped the doctor during childbirths. The girl's name was Susana, and she looked downright fierce. Straight nose and chin and a no-nonsense attitude. She carried some medical equipment that the doctor had left behind with her.

A scalpel, some type of scary tongs, some scissors, a long pair of tweezers, and a basin filled with alcohol. She dropped all the utensils in it to disinfect them. She also pulled out a small bag that contained some needles and vials.

"He may need a blood transfusion; he's lost a lot of blood," she commented, and Jonas agreed. Blair looked on worriedly.

"Blood type?" She asked Jacob, who was arranging a dozen white towels next to a water bucket.

The man looked like he was about to pass out. "O-O negative. Like me."

"Oh, good," Susana said, and Jacob looked at the needles apprehensively. Blair moved around Chuck until she was sitting by this head, his head on her lap as Jonas and Susana moved over his chest. Jonas slowly pulled back the cloth he had been holding to Chuck's chest, and Blair pressed her lips together when she saw the two gaping wounds.

Chuck's breathing became irregular ,and Blair softly caressed his face and hair as Jonas went about cleaning the area around the wound. Once the area was cleaned, leaving behind two little holes that continued excreting black blood from them, the mood changed and everyone but Blair, Susana, Jonas, Dorota, and Jacob left the room.

Blair swallowed when Dorota handed Jonas a scalpel. Her small hands dug into his hair in anticipation. As if it was happening to her. That was when Chuck woke.

"Blair?"

Blair instantly reacted to his voice, bringing her face to his line of vision.

"I'm here." Her voice was shaky.

"What's happening?" He asked.

Susana quickly took a needle and stuck it in a vial.

"Shh…." Blair ran her hands over his hair as he tried to lift his hand to her but failed, letting out a yell and arching off the bed. "Give him something!" Blair cried, her eyes wide and worried.

Susana deftly stuck the needle into the arm Jonas was holding down, and Chuck's eyes met Blair's for a moment before closing.

"It's going to be ok," she whispered to him and, at that moment, she wandered if this was the last conversation she would have with him. That fear gripped her heart, and she began to beg whoever listened up there to bring him back to her. She swore she would tell him how she felt. She swore she would. Even if he rejected her. Even if he hated her.

She bent down and pressed her lips to his temple as Jonas got to work. He sliced Chuck's chest opened and pulling out he bullet as Chuck moaned softly in his sleep. She closed her eyes and continued hoping he would make it.

By the time they had managed to remove the second bullet, it was a few hours later, and they were all tired, achy, and moody.

"I don't know how to sew," Susan explained, and Jonas shook his head.

"I do," Dorota said loudly, and Blair met her eyes. Her brave maid took a deep breath and walked forward, meeting Blair's eyes as tears of gratitude emerged from Blair's eyes.

Susana nodded and brought her a needle and thread and, as Jonas dabbed the wound that was still bleeding, Dorota began sewing up Blair's husband, who was barely hanging on to his life. It was nearly an hour later by the time the shaky Dorota finished the job. They re-cleaned the wound and told Blair she needed to clean it again once a day to prevent infection. Now Chuck had two ugly scars on his chest, but she didn't care. He was still breathing and making little unhappy noises in his drug-induced sleep.

All together they helped wrap thick gauze over his chest until he was snuggled in white. While the men lifted his body off the bed, the women quickly changed the sheets to remove all the bloody ones. Once Chuck was re-settled on the clean sheets and sleeping, Dorota brought her a change of clothes, which Blair took gratefully as Jacob reluctantly offered his arm for the beginning of the transfusion.

He let out a loud yelp when no-nonsense Susana stuck him with the large needle.

By the time Blair emerged changed, Susan had hooked both Chuck and Jacob up, and while Chuck was passed out, Jacob looked like he might just faint alongside him.

"You very brave, Mr. Jacob," Dorota told him, beaming. Jacob just swallowed and continued drinking his grape juice.

"He'll most likely develop a fever," Jonas told her as he leaned against the bed post.

Blair nodded. "Ill stay up – you get some rest."

Jonas studied her. "You ok?"

Blair tucked her hair behind her ear and met his eyes. "I will be."

The older man nodded and walked out once Susana finished the transfusion. As Susana packed up the things with the help of Mr. Grant, Dorota turned weary eyes to her.

"I take Mr. Jacob to his room," she told her. Blair peered at Jacob, who looked he needed someone to carry him.

"Of course," Blair said with a hidden smile, watching the two of them slowly make it out of the room.

Blair was left with a sleeping Chuck. She slowly climbed into the bed with him and curled herself against his body, watching him sleep. His face was no longer as pale as it had been when they had originally deposited him on the bed, and for that she was grateful. He had scared her to death, lying there pale and moaning. She was sure he would die, sure of it. His lids were no longer a purple shade but a healthy pink one, and his fingers would twitch every so often. She reached and took his hand in hers, drawing slow circles on his palm and bringing his hand to her mouth, kissing his cold fingers.

She reached down and pulled the covers up, warming him. She curled up closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Just being near him set her at ease. He hadn't developed a fever just yet, and Susana had left Blair a shot of morphine in case he needed it, which Blair was sure he would once he woke.

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He felt an overwhelming pressure on his chest the moment he started to stir. It felt like someone had used his chest as a cutting board. He groaned and opened his eyes, trying to peer down.

But a bushel of brown curls covered his vision. He swallowed. Was Blair on him? Had they gotten drunk? Shit… He couldn't remember. He tried to move, but a searing pain went up his chest and took over him. He let out a low moan loud enough to wake Blair, who instantly sat up, looming over him.

"What the fuck…" he hissed, his eyes tightly shut as he clenched and unclenched his hands. Her hands were on his face, pushing his hair back.

"Shit, you have a fever," she said quietly.

"Blair, what the hell happened?" He demanded, reaching out and grabbing her hand.

Her eyes were wide as she swallowed and licked her lips. "You were shot. Twice. We had to take the bullets out."

He lay back, panting and grimacing. "Yeah… Out in the field by the cattle pen."

"Do you remember?" She asked him, working on something over the night table. He tried to look, but the pain in his chest was unbearable. He panted.

"Clara…" She stiffened next to him and looked him over. "… She was riding and almost got… Fuck." He closed his eyes tightly as the burning took over him but before he knew it, she had swabbed the inside of his elbow and had plunged a needle in. He opened his eyes and looked over at her.

"Morphine," she said by way of explanation and, in mere seconds, he felt the lovely numbness take over him. She extracted the needle and swabbed him once more.

He sighed, relaxing against the pillows and taking a breath. He felt exhausted and sleepy, like he could sleep for a week. He felt her hand on his forehead once more and then a cool cloth. He met her eyes.

"Why are you here?" He said softly, trying to see what he could decipher from her face, but it was blank.

"I married you, I don't know if you remember that," she joked.

He swallowed. "No… Why are you here, in this room, with me?"

The cool cloth felt fabulous on his neck. She refused to meet his eyes, and he instantly noticed.

"I'm your wife… This is what wives do," she said quietly, dipping the washcloth in a water basin and repeating her actions. He reached up and grabbed her hand, and then did something daring. Something he wouldn't have done if he hadn't been pumped full of morphine. He kissed the back of her hand, and her eyes widened.

"Thank you," he whispered before sleep took over him and his lids slid closed.

Blair was stock still, her hand still in his – entirely too close to his lips, feeling the soft lull of his breath against her skin.

She bit her lip, still staring at him, then leaned forward and kissed him, touching his face and assuring herself that he was ok. God, she loved him. Loved him like one would dream of loving someone. Loving him more than she loved herself, which was a strange and horribly frightening feeling, because it meant that losing him would kill her.

He mumbled in his sleep, and she placed the cool cloth on his forehead, pressing it there slightly. She took a deep breath and resumed her position next to him, preparing herself for a restless night.

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He woke four more times during the night, but they hardly conversed. It was more her giving him water because he was incredibly thirsty and helping him shift because he was uncomfortable.

This time, she woke before him rather than being woken up by him. She woke to find that his fever had broken, and he was looking healthier by the minute. So she slid out of the bed and went looking for Dorota. She found her already coming to Chuck's room with a breakfast tray.

Blair ushered her in and between the two of them they clothed the sleeping Chuck in loose pants and a t-shirt. He woke slightly, but his head had rolled back and he began snoring.

"You tired," Dorota commented, and Blair nodded, pulling her hair back in a loose pony tail. She grabbed some toast and ate quietly as she continued watching Chuck sleep.

"He be fine, Miss Blair. Strong man, your husband," Dorota assured her.

"How's Jacob?" Blair asked her, and she instantly noticed that her Dorota flushed a furious pink.

Blair's mouth fell opened.

"He fine." Dorota walked around, picking up clothing from the floor, studiously avoiding her eyes.

"Dorota…" Blair said carefully. "Do you and Jacob have anything going on?"

Dorota's back shot straight, and she glared at Blair.

"Oh, my God, you do!" Blair tried not to smile, but she couldn't help it – it was a welcome distraction from the night she'd had.

"I do not!" Dorota snapped and huffed out, still pink as Blair had ever seen her.

Blair turned to look at Chuck's immobile body. "I think your guy is getting it on with my girl."

When Jonas and Jacob finally came, Jacob agreed to stay with Chuck while Jonas showed her where Clara was. Blair had a few things to talk about with the girl, and she was done with threats. It was time for action.

"You didn't see what happened?" She asked Jonas, and the man shook his head.

"I just saw as he rode, already shot."

Blair nodded as he opened a closet with a key. She took a deep breath and stepped back to find Clara crouched in the corner of the room, amidst brooms and buckets.

Blair stepped in, making the girl scurry back. Jonas turned on another light, and the light enveloped the room, making Clara blink as she adjusted to the change. She looked at Blair.

"Is he dead?" She asked, her voice low and raspy. Tears tracks were dried and being re-wet before Blair's eyes on the girl's plump cheeks.

Blair stood before her.

"No. He's still alive," she snapped. "What the hell happened out there?"

Clara rubbed her cheeks, trying to wipe her tears away, as she looked ahead. Her hair was in disarray, her jeans were torn, and she still wore her heavy snow coat, which was stained with blood from where she had thrown herself on top of Chuck.

"I went to help. I didn't mean…" Clara's head fell, and she pressed her forehead to her knees, gasping for air.

Blair lost her patience and bent down, grabbing the girl by her shoulders and shaking her.

"What happened?" Blair shouted at her, her own tears about to spill over. She'd been holding them back all night, during Chuck's pain, and she was a minute away from letting them all spill out.

"I-I distracted him!" Clara shouted. "Then the man… The one he thought was dead, pulled a gun and s-shot him!"

Blair let go of her, disgusted. She backed away, still staring at the shrunken form. Blair swallowed, looking down and running her hand over her tired face.

"Jonas…" Blair said quietly, and the man's hard face turned from Clara's form to Blair.

"Mrs. Bass," the man nodded.

Blair looked down at Clara, who looked more pitiful than ever.

"You spoke once of a village near by… A Scottish village, yes?" She asked quietly, and Jonas nodded.

"Take Clara… take her there," Blair decided resolutely. Clara gasped and made to stand, but Jonas fixed her with a glare she had never seen from the man. Blair looked Clara over one last time. "You're not welcome to my home and, by home, I mean the entire village."

Clara's tears continued. "Let me just see him – let me just see him one more time."

Blair shook her head and walked out of the closet, leaving Clara in Jonas' capable hands. Her heart clenched. She knew the world was falling apart outside the village, she knew it. She knew people were not surviving. She knew this. She was sending this young girl out there alone. But she was dangerous. This time it was Chuck – who would be next?

She couldn't. She'd promised Chuck she would be the Lady of this house, and with that came the responsibility of the people's lives. One for the many.

She made it with sluggish feet back to Chuck's room and found Jacob exiting.

He studied her. "Clara?"

"She's gone," Blair said in a stoic voice, and Jacob slowly nodded. "Thank you," Blair told him.

Jacob's eyes widened slightly.

"I venture to say that this is not the first time you've saved his life," She remarked. and Jacob looked away. "You're a good man, Jacob. You better be good to my Dorota."

Jacob's eyes widened slightly, and he turned the same shade of pink that Dorota was sporting. Blair smiled at him and kissed his cheek, patting it afterwards.

She walked past him and entered Chuck's room, finding him propped up against pillows and staring out his open window. He looked to be still in pain, one hand pressed against his stomach and the other softly drumming against 'her' side of the bed. His hair was disheveled, all over his face, his feet were bare, and he was still in the outfit Dorota and she had dressed him in.

He turned his face slowly towards her and offered her a small smile.

"You look better," she commented, suddenly shy as to her reason for being here. She shouldn't be here. He didn't need a wife, he needed a nurse, and it was not her place. He probably didn't even want her here; last night he'd been delirious with pain and most likely not remembered the kiss on the hand or how he'd called out to her. It was a fluke. A dream sequence.

"I feel… like shit, but thank you," he nodded. Blair noticed the old ancient claw-tub on the side of his bed; it was filled with warm water.

"You asked for a bath?" She asked, touching the water. She didn't know why she did it, but she did. She didn't really want him to get burned. He watched her with dark eyes as she did.

"I figured caked blood on my legs was not ideal or comfortable," he commented, and she nodded.

She didn't know why she felt unexpectedly timid – hadn't she seen him completely naked, hadn't they looked at one another completely naked, touched one another? This was the same. He was sick. She was helping.

Nothing sexual about it.

It was a completely asexual situation.

"I'll go then…" she murmured, and he chuckled.

"You're not going to help me?" He asked, and she paused, taking him in. "Help a poor, sick man."

"Sick is right," she snapped, but he could tell she wasn't upset and smiled back at her. She walked to him slowly and helped him sit up. He groaned and hissed, and she gently helped him stand as he held on to the bedpost, his hands shaking.

"I think you should wait," she said, holding onto his waist, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"I'll be fine," he said after a moment, once his breath was controlled and even.

"You're not fine, you're in pain!" She chided him, and he smiled down at her.

"You're cute when you're working that concerned wife role," he smirked, and she swore if he weren't invalid, she would've hit him.

"Concerned wife role?" She snapped. "Chuck Bass, you nearly died in my arms!"

"Would've left you a rich woman," he laughed, and she looked genuinely hurt.

"I don't care about that!" She cried.

"Blair Waldorf not caring about money?" He asked, not sure exactly why he was starting this argument with her.

Perhaps it was how she was looking exhausted – Jacob had confirmed that she'd been beside herself while he was hurt. Maybe it had been how she'd never left his side throughout the night and how she had acted like someone genuinely in love with him. Him, Chuck Bass, the boy who called her a horse, who left her to fend for herself and never fought for her. Never became a man for her. Maybe it was all that which made him feel like he needed some type of a confirmation from her. Something more than 'I'm not marrying you for your money'. His love for her was consuming him, and if a near death experience was what it took for her to realize she cared for him only a fifth of how much he cared for her, then it would all be ok in the end.

"How could you?" She snapped, ready to drown him in his bath water.

"How could I what? You said it yourself –"

"I told you I wasn't marrying you for your money –"

"Then why, Blair? Why the hell would you marry me?"

"Why would you marry me?" She breathed out. "I'm poor, I'm little, I'm nobody, I have nothing but a pretty face and nothing else –"

"Don't say that! You have so much more!" He chided her.

"You said you didn't want me– you said it once, remember? You said I disgusted you –"

"I was pissed!" He held his chest painfully. His heart was breaking. Or it had been ripped out – he wasn't sure.

"You were cruel!" She cried back.

"Oh, and you weren't?" He snapped. "How do you think I felt watching you in Nathaniel's arms? Looking at him the way I wished you would look at me!"

Her eyes were wide. "Then why did you say those things? Why didn't you tell the truth? I would've, I would've –"

"You would've what? Left your childhood dream? Run off with me?" He spat.

"Yes – no! I don't know!" Lovely clear tears were now running down her cheeks.

"You see – you don't know now, like you didn't know then!" He cried.

"Why do we hurt each other like this? Why?" She demanded.

They were quiet, and he breathed in and out.

"Maybe we care too much…" There. He'd said it. He'd said the words that had been burning at his chest more than any amount of bullets ever could. Her wide brown eyes locked with his, and she stepped forward. Her scent took over him, and he had to concentrated on breathing. From his mouth – where he couldn't smell her.

"Chuck… If you could go back… If we could be seventeen again… If you could change things… What would you have done?" She asked quietly, and his eyes widened at the 100 prospects of things to do differently.

Visions of Blair in his father's wedding, visions of Nathaniel, visions of Lily, Serena, Eric… He would've done 100 things differently. He would've fought for his friend; he would've won Nathaniel back. He would've explained to him that what he felt for Blair was real. He would've been good for Blair, he would've gained her back – they would've loved one another. His father wouldn't have died thinking his son hated him. He would take care of Lily like his father would've wanted. He would've cared for Serena and for Eric.

100 things different.

And before he knew it, one single, solitary tear was born out of his left eye and slowly tracked its way down his cheek, through the contours of his nose and plopped on her lip, there to rest. She gasped softly.

He reached out and touched her wet lip with a single finger.

"I would've… I would've… I wouldn't have let you go," he finally said. The words felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A seven-year weight.

Her eyes were wide and acute hope shined out of them.

"What would you have said?" She whispered, and her hand rested on his collarbone. It burned his skin there but it urged him to continue.

"I…I would've said… Pick me. Pick me, Blair Waldorf."

It was fear like he'd never felt before. The type that takes your soul out of the crevices where it was meant to hide and shakes it out for the world to see. Was it bravery that led him to say what he said? What is foolishness? How long before she laughed? How long before she answered out of pity? Was this her perfect revenge, her perfect game plan? Had her queen cornered his king? Was this Queen B at her absolute best? Was it a game? Was it a stupid game?

100 things went through his head. 101.

She let out a throaty breath and captured his lips with hers. They were needy. They were desperate. But they were damn real.

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To be continued