Chapter 21 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.

AUTHOR'S NOTE - PLEASE READ: OK, as many of you have pointed out in the last chapter, apparently there was a resemblance to Atonement. As I've never seen the film I'm kinda sad that this happened, it was not my intention. I might go back and edit out that line and change it so please understand that it was not a reference to a film or book I have never seen/read. Thank you!

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"There are only four questions of value in life.
What is sacred?
Of what is the spirit made of?
What is worth living for?
What is worth dying for?
The answer to each is the same. Only love."
Don Juan Demarco

"I assume you're here with that determined look on your face because you need something?" He asked her, and she smirked, walking in slowly with Hera whining behind her.

Jonas was on wood cut duty and had collected three large fifty-count piles. Blair nodded at them approvingly. He set down his ax and leaned against one of the piles, staring at her.

"State your purpose, Mrs. Bass," he said, and she looked away, pulling her thick coat around her tighter.

"I need you to teach me something," she replied.

He raised a brow and waited for her to explain.

She shifted her feet. Girls like her never had to do these things; girls like her watched film of this happening. Yet here she was, a girl like her, asking things like this.

"I need you to teach me how to shoot," she barked out and almost huffed because this was so not something she wanted to do. But because her husband was out on some noble adventure, she had no choice.

He smirked, and she glared at him. He slowly walked back inside his cabin and came out with a long rifle in his hand and puffs of winter smoke surrounding him.

"C'mon, Princess – you're going to be a woman today," he said, and she reluctantly followed him over the hill – the same hill Chuck had taken her on their first ride, that first magical ride.

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Chuck braced himself when the service vehicle came to a stop in front of what looked like an abandoned camp. He nodded at the driver as he hopped off, and the jeep sped off.

Three months. He'd been traveling for three months since he had last seen Gilbert, and the blue pass had saved his ass countless times. The worse had been when he and his escort had unwittingly fallen into an enemy camp. They had been saved by the skin of their teeth as he waved the blue pass in his shaky hand. The rifle had been removed from his mouth and they had let him go, but not before stealing his coat. He had not been happy about it.

Now here he was, two months after that incident, and he thought he'd finally arrived at the right camp. Camp Lowell. The Camp with the highest mortality rate in the entire eastern division. No one could say who was alive and who was dead. Leave it to Nathaniel to get himself assigned to this camp in particular. He shook his head in near disgust. He had forgotten how very clueless his friend could be. How Chuck had been the brains behind the stunning golden boy. Just like Blair. At times, Nathaniel was nearly a puppet. What Blair and Chuck wanted out of him they usually got. Same with Serena who, though a party-bitch, could be easily manipulated in her BD era. BD meaning Before Dan.

"Has Blair called you?" Nate asked him, his brows furrowed as he scratched his head and studied his cell phone.

Chuck Bass, no older than fourteen, eyed the 21 year old waitress as she winked his way.

"She might've called," Chuck answered distractedly.

"Did she say if she wanted me to go to the charity auction? I can't remember."

Chuck stopped his blatant admiration of the woman's perfectly shaped breasts and turned to his friend. "I find myself often in the middle of a relationship that is not my own."

Nate was confused. Of course he was.

Chuck rolled his eyes and took a sip of his new favorite drink. Scotch. He didn't know why he hadn't tried it before.

"Yes, she called, and yes she wants you to go to the charity thing. It's rumored to be the most boring thing since the Clinton scandal," he snapped.

Nate nodded, thinking this over. "Hey, maybe you can go instead! I promised Serena I was going to go with her to the Hamptons for Cece's party."

Chuck raised his brow once more, a cynical smile plastered on his lips. Honestly, sometimes Nathaniel was too easy.

"Replacement date?" He inquired.

"C'mon, you and Blair are pretty close, she won't mind – do me this favor, man. I'll owe you big time," Nate pleaded, and finally Chuck nodded, staring at his happy friend as he quickly texted Serena the new plans. It's not that Chuck had wanted Blair and Nathaniel to break up, it's that they were his best friends, and he wanted them to realize that they weren't meant for one another. She didn't make him happy, and he certainly didn't make her happy. Blair was always pouting, plotting, and crying. Nate was always gloomy, brooding, and sad.

So when he showed up at Blair's foyer with a smirk firmly in place and a crisp gray suite and snazzy sea green bowtie, she glowered at him.

"Bass, go away! Nate and I have a date, and I don't do threesomes," she snapped at him, her green dress floating around her, showing off her slender shoulders.

His smirk had widened. "Well, since you brought up the threesome idea, there is a lovely red head I saw. Or we can invite Dorota, because Nathaniel is riding the jitney as we speak."

Blair scoffed. "He isn't! And eww!"

"He so is," Chuck rounded her, his shoes making clicking noises on the floor. "Call him, if you don't believe me."

Her little nostrils flared, and he admitted to himself that they were adorable.

"Well, then I refuse to go," she huffed.

"Don't be a spoiled brat. I have the limo waiting, and you know you love the limo." His smirk widened.

"I do not!" She snapped.

"You do too!" He countered as they walked to the elevator.

"It's disgusting. I wouldn't stay there longer than I had to, much less do anything of importance in it."

"I happen to find the limo quite comfy."

Nate never found out what happened. He never really asked. Chuck and Blair actually had a pretty good time. There was scandal - Mr. Donahue proclaimed he was a transvestite in front of the entire Upper East Side. Scandalizing many, confusing many more.

"I'm no longer worried about my sexuality," he whispered to her in his low, throaty voice. She arched a brow at him. "What can I say? I always thought he had great legs."

Her laugh was heard across the room, and that secretly made something funny happen to his stomach.

Chuck walked carefully around the fallen debris and the obvious pieces of human flesh all over the ground. The stench was overwhelming, and he had to stop to barf by a tree, digging his fingers into the bark as he balanced himself and emptied what was left of his breakfast.

He grimaced and wiped his mouth, then continued trekking through the camp.

"Hello!" He cried. "Hello!" He stumbled on some abandoned pots and pans, making a huge racket.

"Hey! Freeze, motherfucker!"

Chuck instantly stopped, raising his hands in the air. He'd had entirely too many encounters with crazy soldiers left abandoned by the alliance to know better than to mess with them. He froze, eyes focused on the figure moving ahead.

The air was so chilly around him that a puff of smoke came out of his mouth.

He moved his arm to wave to the man and, before he knew it, a gun was aimed at his face.

"I told you to freeze, you white cracker. You think I'm joking, eh – fag? I'll blow your brains, I'll blow them right out your fucking ears!" The large man was shouting at his face, pressing the gun barrel against Chuck's cheekbone.

Chuck remained still, eyeing the man coolly.

"Who are you – what the fuck you doing in Camp Low-hell?" The soldier continued shouting. "And I'll know if you're lying, I'll send your white ass where people like you should've stayed!"

"Chuck Bass, citizen." Chuck explained, his arms still in the air. "I'm looking for –"

"You ain't not fucking citizen! I ain't seen no fucking citizen in five fucking months, you think I believe your lying ass? You think cause I'm black I'm stupid? Well, I've got news for you, pretty boy. This your last moment – this your last hope!"

"I'm looking for Corporal Archibald!" Chuck yelled as the man cocked his gun.

The man stopped, his red rimmed eyes studying Chuck, inspecting all inches of his face.

"Yeah, yeah – you look like a rich boy," the man spat at him. "But I don't care who you know, baby – you're dead, you fucking dead –"

But his radio beeped, and the man stopped.

"Olan? Fuck, Olan are you still there?"

Chuck's stomach froze. That was Nathaniel's voice. He'd know that voice anywhere. His eyes met the man.

"I got a bug, Sir – going to eliminate," Olan replied into the radio, his gun still imbedded in Chuck's face.

"Bring him," Nate said over the radio. "And stop fucking around."

Olan glared at Chuck and grabbed him, yanking him against a tree and cuffing his hands. Chuck grunted as he was shoved face-forward into the tree.

He'd been arrested a total of seven times as a teenager and once as an adult. This treatment? He was used to it.

"C'mon, cracker – Corporal most likely shoot you himself!"

Chuck didn't doubt it.

Olan dragged him through the rest of the camp, tripping over the bodies of soldier. Olan continued as if he didn't even see them while Chuck tried to hold off the gags. The smell was overwhelming and it was making him dry heave.

"Suck it up, boy!" Olan yelled at him.

They went down a tall, dry hill, sand going into Chuck's fine shoes while Olan trotted ahead, undisturbed. Chuck was apprehensive. The closer they got to their destination, the more explosions he heard. Over and over. Olan sensed his trepidation.

"Yeah, it ain't pretty," he mumbled, but Chuck heard him. The cuffs were tight around his wrist and they cut into his skin. He grimaced, but continued through the sandy dunes until ahead he saw a giant ditch filled with tents with men scurrying about. He let out a breath.

Olan dragged him in and soldiers, all bloodied and hardened by the war, glared at him.

"Where the fuck you pick this shit up?" They asked Olan.

"Says he knows the Corporal," Olan snapped and one man spit in Chuck's face, making Chuck's jaw twitch while he glared at him.

"Fucking rich boy!"

"Didn't even bring no fucking beer."

Chuck's eyes stung when one of them threw sand at his face, and he dimly heard Olan pushing the man off as he cried out against the sting. He felt himself being shoved somewhere and then his back was harshly pressed against a pole and his hands un-cuffed. He was tied to that same pole and made to sit down on the floor. He yelled when they tightened the rope around his wrists and shoved his head. One even kicked him in the ribs, and he let out a huff as the air was knocked out of him.

"Lets see how much the Corporal likes you, cracker, and then we'll see if you live or fucking die."

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Blair smiled as Melanie grabbed her foot and attempted to stuff it in her mouth. She was in Eleanor's lap as her mother coddled her. She could never remember the baby's name and kept calling her Blair. Blair figured it was a good sign.

"No, Blair – be a lady," her mother chided the baby.

"Mom, let her be – she's a baby," Blair said as she continued her knitting lessons with Dorota. She was truly not born to knit, but as the winter went on and the scarcity of supplies continued, people needed clothing and, during their down time after dinner, the women would attempt to knit all they could.

"She doesn't sit very well, does she?" Eleanor asked, sniffing at the child.

"She's barely five months old!" Blair laughed. "She can't sit up on her own."

Eleanor didn't look impressed, as if five months was a perfectly reasonable time to start sitting up and stop chewing on one's body parts. Melanie cooed loudly and let out a watery laugh when Cat passed by her and tickled her bare foot with his raised tail.

"I can't do this. I just can't!" Blair finally snapped and threw down her knitting needles, glaring at them.

Dorota ignored her outburst and continued dutifully with her knitting, speaking her lesson instead to Ruby, who was quite the fast learner. Blair stood and walked to her mother. Once the baby saw her, her eyes widened and she raised her hands to Blair. Blair bent and quickly took the baby, who smiled happily.

Blair kissed her head softly and held her, rocking her back and forth.

Eleanor was looking up at her curiously. "Is she yours?"

Blair thought about this for a moment. "Yes. Yes, she is."

Eleanor nodded in approval. "Good, because I didn't want a baby – I'm too young, you know."

Blair tried not to smile, so she nodded to her mother, walking her baby to the window that faced the village.

Five months. Her heart was in remission. Lacking his love was eating her alive. The only thing that kept her going was the child in her arms, her unconditional love, and the fact that Blair needed to care for her all the time.

He was somewhere out there, being brave or whatever he needed or felt he needed to do. She knew this was no longer about her or about them. This was all about him. His need to find some sort of forgiveness for what had happened in the past. If she had asked him to stay, demanded he stayed, he would've left her eventually. The guilt would have consumed him.

He would never have been happy, no matter how many kisses she offered or how close she held him at night.

You can't hold the mind.

A soft knock interrupted the women, and Ruby stood from her careful knitting and opened the door slightly. There stood Jefferson, the old butler of the home. Most people didn't know this, but Jefferson used to be Chuck's old butler in New York. The man had seen Chuck go through all of his life stages, more than his father probably had.

He'd seen the lonely little boy, the arrogant teenager, and finally the man he had become. Jefferson was quite fond of Blair, always gentle with her and informing her of things secretly on the side.

"Ma'am. Jacob's presence was requested in town. There's a man there looking for you. He's just left."

"Left?" Dorota asked, alarmed. Blair walked to Jefferson and nodded, thanking him.

"It could be anyone," Blair whispered almost to herself.

They all knew the ride to the town by them was nearly an hour's ride, so it would be a couple of hours before Jacob would be back with any news whatsoever.

By then, Melanie began to fuss and, once Ruby had helped Blair bathe the baby and clothed her in warm pink pajamas, Blair set to rock her to sleep in the nursery. Once Melanie was sleeping peacefully in Blair's arms, Dorota knocked on the door. Blair nodded at her and carefully set her baby down, covering her with a knit blankie Dorota had made for her. It was a soft lilac and had clouds designed along the edges. Melanie murmured in her sleep, and Blair bent down to kiss her soft, fuzzy head.

Blair followed Dorota out the door and stared at her old maid.

"He back. Brought the man," Dorota informed her and Blair nodded, leading the way to the dining room where Dorota told her the men where.

It was late at night by then, nearing 11pm, so the house staff was mostly gone home and those who were left had retired to their quarters. Blair entered the dining room and smiled at Jacob, who quickly turned to greet her, and then looked past him and a small gasp fell from her lips.

"Mr. Gilbert!" Blair cried when she saw the man bent over a large bowl of steaming beef stew.

Kevin instantly stopped eating, wiping his mouth, and stood to greet her.

"Blair," he said, smiling as brightly as ever. Blair walked to him, her eyes widened when she saw his uniform.

"Where's Chuck?" She demanded. What if this was a sick way of informing her that she'd been left a widow? She couldn't handle the waiting.

Kevin blanched and nodded. "Last I saw of him was in Turkey, and he was fine and alive. A bit banged up, but still snappy."

Blair let out a breath, and all the tension she had been holding in the past few months flew off her shoulders. She nearly lost her balance in relief, but Jacob caught her and, between him and Dorota, they helped her sit. Kevin watched her carefully.

"I do apologize. I've just been so very worried…" she whispered and nodded at the glass of water Jacob poured for her.

Kevin looked down and nodded.

"H-he asked me to deliver this to you, personally… And look after you until he could make it back," Kevin said and pulled from his coat a bent and crinkled letter.

Blair stared at it.

"Where is he now?" She whispered, staring at the letter as if it would be the last she would ever heard from Chuck.

Kevin cleared his throat. "Saudi Arabia… searching for –"

"Nate," Blair finished for him. Her heart was slowly informing her of the endless possibilities. "Tell me, Mr. Gilbert… Has any man come back from there?"

She visibly saw him swallow and already knew everything she needed to hear. She nodded, holding back the tears that she had not let escape all these months. She reached out and took the letter from Kevin's hands, feeling the paper in her fingers, and stood and walked out.

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He nearly growled against the pole. He pulled, but the knots were held tight and he was barely able to see. He blinked against the sand stuck on his lashes. He sat silently on the ground, his eyes slowly letting him see around him as the explosions and yelling continued outside.

He wondered if they would even tell Nathaniel he was there. He wondered many things sitting there in the semi-darkness, listening to the horrible sounds of war around him. He wondered if they would forget him when the bombs fell closer and closer, and he would die stuck to a pole with sand in his lashes.

He was nearly falling asleep. It had been three hours since he'd been taken there. He had yelled for a while, and they had ignored him, even threatened to gag him. And here he was, three hours later, still waiting for a voice he'd heard on the radio.

Finally, as the sun was setting, a figure entered the tent. He blinked and looked up, his eyes adjusting to the light that the figure brought into the dark tent.

The figure let the cloth drop behind him, taking a step inside, and pulled out a flashlight. The flashlight was pointed at Chuck's face, and he was temporarily blinded.

"C-chuck?"

He let out a breath. "Nathaniel."

Nate came closer, taking the light off Chuck's eyes and Chuck's own eyes widened when he saw his childhood friend.

"Nathaniel?" Chuck asked again, because he couldn't believe it.

Nate had always been the good-looking kid: the golden boy. Blair had been unable to take her eyes off him from the moment they met. Neither had Serena, though his stepsister never knew that he knew. All the girls had eyes for Nathaniel Archibald.

But this… man before him was not Nate. Not his Nate.

He gulped.

The man before him was a hard man, a war-weary man. Tall and so bronzed that he looked downright brown. His skin revealed many days of standing under the sun. He had his hair buzzed short, so short Chuck hardly could tell he had hair. His eyes were dark and hard, and there was a nasty scar that extended from the tip of his lip, across his cheekbone, past his eyelid and up his eyebrow, disappearing into his hairline.

The scar was healed, but he looked nearly disfigured. And now he was the walking, living proof that things were just not ok.

He stood tall and proud, a leader and a soldier. Cold, calculating, and lacking all the warmth and goodness that Chuck had always seen in him.

"Chuck Bass," Nate said.

"Nate…" Chuck was still shocked speechless. He had no words. He'd expected to find him scared, hopeless, alone, even dead. But not this. Not this transformed man before him. He walked to Chuck, and Chuck instantly noticed a limp.

From his understanding, Nate had only been at war about 11 months. No more. Yet the fool had been sent to the very worst part of it. Leave it to Nate to find the one place that could transform and change a man so drastically.

"That's Corporal Archibald to you," Nate snapped at him and walked resolutely to Chuck, looming over him.

Chuck felt like he had swallowed his tongue.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Nate snapped at him. "Don't tell me that you came to save me?"

Chuck, still speechless and even more astounded by Nate's words, just stared at him.

"Let me assure you, you're six months too late," he spat grimly. Chuck's eyes widened slightly when Nate pulled a knife from his boot and brandished it before Chuck's eyes.

Had he lost his mind? Had he lost it completely, and now was going to gut him for sleeping with Blair all those years ago? Chuck simply stared at him.

"My coat pocket," Chuck said quietly.

Nathaniel eyed him, his eyes still as empty and hard as ever. Without preamble, he leaned forward and stuck his hand into Chuck's coat pocked, pulling out the very distinct blue pass.

Nate stared at the item and then slowly turned to Chuck, his eyes firing even more hatred.

"Leave it to a Bass to get one of these," he spat. "The whole world is on fire, and you're trotting the globe with one of these? You disgust me!"

And then Nate spit in his face, making Chuck's mouth drop open, stunned. His anger bubbled inside of him until he felt he could kill him with his bare hands. The same fine hands that were still snuggly tied behind his back.

"You angry, Charles?" Nate taunted him. "Yeah – get angry. Get motherfucking pissed."

Chuck's jaw twitched. "I disgust you. Me?" Chuck barked a laugh. "I can pull rank with you, you know. All the times you fucked Blair over. All the times –"

"Blair is dead to me, same way I'm dead to myself –"

"And what about Vanessa, eh?" Chuck snapped. "Married her, didn't you? Love her? Left her?"

And a horrible look passed through Nate's eyes at the mention of Vanessa's name, and Chuck knew he had him. He'd found his kryptonite.

"Yeah… But you know the twist? You know the fucking twist? That while you're out here convincing yourself that you're dead, she had your child," Chuck yelled at him, trying to hold back the sick delight he got from watching Nate's armored façade crumble.

"She begged me to find you," Chuck spat.

"Shut up!" Nate cried, and then a gun was out and pointed at Chuck's face threateningly.

"Came all the way to Scotland to find me because you told her she should. I could see her bones, she was so fucking thin!" Chuck continued. Nate's eyes widened, and the gun was cocked.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you, and the great Chuck Bass dies here, by the hand of Nathaniel Archibald, as he sat on the floor of a fucking tent!" Nate was screaming so loud that his spit was sprinkling all over Chuck's face.

"You're going to kill me, Nate?" Chuck countered. "Your best friend?"

"You were a lousy friend! You fucked Blair. You took her virginity, you hid it from me, and you took her from me –"

"What are you talking about? She chose you!"

"Her mind did, but her heart was always elsewhere!" Nate continued. "You could feel it, feel it as she kissed me. As she fucked me!"

"You chose Vanessa!" Chuck reminded him.

"I loved Vanessa!" Nate shouted, and Chuck saw the veins in his neck rise above his skin.

"Well, she's dead!" Chuck shouted right back. "Died giving birth to your fucking kid!"

And Nate was rendered speechless. The gun dropped from Chuck's face as Nate stared at him blankly.

Chuck instantly knew he'd crossed a line. He's crossed a HUGE line. He'd destroyed him. Destroyed him with his words.

Chuck opened his mouth to take it back, because the sorrow he saw crossing Nathaniel's face was the most horrible thing he had ever seen in all the years the war had ragged on.

He wondered if that was the look his father had when he was told his mother had died. Like the real man had died. Chuck knew it would be the look that would cross his own face if Blair ever died, a thought that stabbed his stomach with a butcher knife.

Nate stepped back, quickly raising his gun and placing it against his own temple.

All Chuck remembered was screaming, and then the world exploded around them.

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To be continued